


So shines a good deed

by andeemae



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Happy Ending, Everybody Lives, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Originally Posted Elsewhere, POV Alternating, more or less
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:42:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 158,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27569242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andeemae/pseuds/andeemae
Summary: The mine didn't claim Gale and Katniss' fathers that cold winter day, but a father was still lost. Guilt and fear take hold and lives take unexpected paths.
Relationships: Gale Hawthorne/Madge Undersee
Comments: 20
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too. It's all hers.
> 
> AN: Moving this over here from ffn. The plan is to move 5 chapters a week, hopefully I can keep to that. Mentions of suicide, just to warn you, and the story on a whole has dark themes. As always though, I do love a happy ending.

Madge tries to listen at the door when her father gets the call from the Capitol in the small hours of the morning.

He'd been leaving early and coming home late for weeks now. There is trouble in the mines, rumblings about the dangerous conditions, threats of strikes…

A small crew had come by the evening before last, waiting in the kitchen for hours for her father to come home. What they'd talked about Madge didn't know, she'd fallen asleep and missed that part. She'd been vigilant since then, trying to listen and piece together what was going on that had spurred the miners to visit her father.

"I have no control over that…"

She can't make out anymore words, just the rumble of his voice, the hurried, agitated clip of it.

Madge presses her ear harder to the door. They're talking about possible strikes, that much she can figure out. Her father has often told her that strikes are only effective if all those striking are on the same page, something exceedingly difficult in the mines. No one wants to be singled out, have the Capitol's attention focused on them. There's also always the possibility that some would work anyway, unable to function without pay. A strike could, would,result in executions.

When she hears the phone click onto the receiver she scrambles back to her room. She jumps into her bed, and dives under the covers, feigning sleep.

The door creaks open, a sliver of light stretches in and across her.

"Magdalene."

He crosses the room and she feels the bed sag as he sat at the edge.

"I heard you, Pearl?" It's not so much a question, despite the tone of his voice. He knows she heard. He pokes her in the back. "How much did you hear?"

Madge rolls onto her back and lets a faint smile flicker across her face. "Just a little."

His eyebrows arch up expectantly.

She sighs, "The miners are going to strike?"

Her father rubs his eyes, "I don't know." He lets out a long breath. "It'll be very bad if they do. Can you tell me why?"

He always does this, makes her tell him what he already knew. It annoys her just a little, but it makes her think, which she supposes is the point.

"They'll…cut our food." She sits up, thinking. "They'll send more Peacekeepers, newer ones, ones that will be meaner. Maybe make old Cray go away." He's a pathetic Head Peacekeeper anyway, she isn't sure how he hasn't gone missing already. "Executions."

"Anything else?" Her father prompts.

Madge picks at her blanket. She knows the last bit, she's positive she does, but she doesn't want to say it. Her eyes fill, burning as she tries to blink away the tears.

"We'll go away?"

She looks up at him. His mouth is turned up in a sad smile. He pulls her into a hug.

"I'm sorry, Pearl."

He holds her for a few minutes, rocking and humming an old lullaby to her while he gathers his thoughts.

"If they don't strike there'll be an accident, those mines are a death trap and the Capitol refuses to fix the issues. It's going to happen, the when and where are the only questions. Many will die." He sighs again staring off at the bookshelf on Madge's wall, scouring his brain for a solution. "If they dostrike, the entire District will suffer."

He looks down at her, a little crease forming between his eyes. "How do we keep that from happening?"

She knows he doesn't expect an answer from her this time. He's asking himself, forcing the unpleasant truth to his tongue even if he can't dislodge it from his mind yet.

Madge hugs him tighter. Her father is smart, he'll figure this out. She just knows it.

#######

"We have to make sure everyone is on board."

The group of men, from a dozen different crews, sit around the rickety, poorly lit table in the old black market building, the Hob.

Asher Hawthorne stares down at his hand, rough and worn from years of working the mines. He picks at a cut and thinks of his sons. Three boys, they'll all end up in the mines one day. Whatever the consequences, he has to do something so that his sons don't end up in the same deathtrap he's lowered into everyday.

"That's what the Mayor said," his eyes flicker up and onto the men around him. "When we went and talked to him. Said everyone has to be on board. We can't let them push us around, send us to our deaths, without putting up some kind of fight."

One of the older men frowns. "You also said he said it would end in executions."

"They won't execute all of us," Jude Everdeen tells him firmly. "They can't. They need us."

"But they don't need our families," someone grunts. "What's to keep them from killin' them?"

"It would take away our motivation." Asher narrows his eyes at the man. If the Capitol so much as looks at his family, he'd reign down a hell they couldn't imagine.

"We have more power than we think," Jude tells them, standing and crossing his arms. "We just need to stand together."

The group rumbles and mutters, but still seems unconvinced.

#######

The night before the inevitable, Hazelle feels her husband curl into her. It's cold out, but her fourth, and she assured him, her last, pregnancy is making her uncomfortably hot, and he's leaching off her warmth.

Normally she would have pushed him off, he's making her too warm, but the heaviness of the air makes her hold him to her.

"What's going to happen tomorrow?" She asks, voice just below a whisper.

Behind her he shrugs. "We'll see."

#######

The miners don't get on the elevators that lower them, don't mine a single piece of coal that day.

Madge's father comes home suddenly, frantically heading up to his office where he begins pulling out drawers, throwing papers into his fireplace and setting them ablaze.

"Dad?"

He looks at her with dark, fearful eyes, and she knows.

He directs her to a trunk in the corner. "There's a box, green, with a little latch. Get it out."

She digs through the old trunk, through dusty papers and mementos and pictures, until she finds the box and takes it to her father.

His hands shake as he opens it.

"Magdalene," he smoothes her hair. "I love you, more than anything in the world. Remember that, okay?"

Madge nods, anxiety building in her stomach.

He takes a bottle out of the box. It's old, a paper wrapper around it. Her father opens it and pulls a pill, no bigger than a pea, and examines it sadly.

"They'll be coming for us, it may be a few days or just a few hours." He tips her chin up, "I know how we're going to keep the District from too much trouble, but it requires a little sacrifice, understand?"

She shakes her head, feels tears trickling down her cheeks. "What're you going to do, dad?"

He swallows hard. "They'll want blood. I'm the Mayor. I told the miners they had to be organized, I'm the instigator."

She stares at the pill and understands. Her father won't be there for her anymore, so he's giving her one final warning. There's no telling what will happen to her once he's gone. She'll be the child of a man who'll be convicted of treason, even if she's certain he isn't going to give them the satisfaction of executing him, and a woman in a constant haze of morphling.

There's no good end to this story.

#######

Though he warns her to stay with her mother, she'd just been given a large dose of her morphling, Madge watches as he admits his guilt, pops the tiny sphere into his mouth and bites into it, watches him drop to the floor, watches him die.

It isn't falling asleep, not by a long shot.

Madge runs to her mother, crawls into the bed beside her, clings to her and listens to the steady beat of her heart as her own races in fear.

"Mom, please…"

But she's too far into her morphling to hear.

Chin quivering, tears dripping off the edge, Madge buries her face in her mother's shoulder, and waits.

The group of Peacekeepers come in, immediately begin tossing the room, looking for evidence and names, before her father's body is even cold on the ground.

They drag Madge away from her still oblivious mother; carry her sobbing down the stairs, out and to the Justice Building. To whatever fate waits for her.

#######

With the news of the Mayor's death, his admitted treason, and the deaths of his wife and daughter, the mines quickly open again the next day. If the Capitol is willing to execute one of their own, a man tasked with enacting their laws and their will, as well as his family, who is to say they wouldn't take out the entire District, make an example of them, just like Thirteen?

"I can't believe they killed the kid too," one of the men mutters.

Asher dusts some coal from his jerky. That burned him. Not only did the Mayor take the fall for their plan, but his wife and little girl had paid for it as well.

He could still see the kid, wide eyes and shy little smile as she'd helped he and Gale at the library, let he, Jude, and a few others into the Mayor's house to wait on him, fallen asleep trying to keep them company…

He's pulled from his thoughts by the siren signaling something has gone wrong.

#######

That would've been us. Jude eyes the entrance, watching the dust and debris rise into the fading light of the day.

It had been their shaft, their stretch of the mines, before the strike. When they'd come back, though, every assignment had been changed. Crews were shifted, moved around, known friends separated, the strike had spurred a paranoia that was sought to be cured by keeping possible troublemakers away from each other.

Ten men had been killed. Ten families had been destroyed. Not either of theirs though. Not today anyway.

He can't help but wonder, though, if next time it might be them.

#######

Madge doesn't know how long they keep her in the holding cell. There are no windows, no light, no heat…

They bring her a filthy glass of water morning, noon, and night, as well as a ration of bread. No one speaks to her, not so much as a grunt of acknowledgment.

When they finally pull her out, dust her off, and shove her into a brightly lit room, she's grimy and greasy, smells awful, she's certain of it.

"Hello, my dear."

Madge squints into the light and sees a man. He's in a Peacekeeper uniform, tall and pale headed, with cold eyes. His chilly smile is fixed on her.

"Magdalene Undersee, is that right?"

She nods.

He shuffles some papers in front of him. "Tell me, Miss Undersee, what your father told you about the strikes."

Her mind shifts quickly. He's trying to undo her father's work, his death might've saved a lot of miners, and if she says the wrong thing she might undo it all. She won't let him down.

She tries to swallow, her mouth is so dry though…

"He didn't tell me anything, sir." She shakes her head. If she had tears she'd cry. "He didn't trust anyone."

The new Peacekeeper narrows his eyes on her. "No one? None of the miners?"

Madge pretends to wrack her brain. She thinks of every horrible thing anyone had ever said near her, to her, about anything. "Miners? No, they're just stupid grunts. He wouldn't have trusted them with something like the strike. They just-they just couldn't do it. They can't organize their sock drawers."

Her heart pounds. She prays she's telling him what he needs to know, that her woven fib is elastic enough to withstand all the stretching he'll put it through, but strong enough to maintain itself.

He writes something down, cool smile still tacked on his lips. His hand lifts in a dismissive manner.

"Take her out." He shakes his head, doesn't even look at her. "Useless brat."

She starts back the way she came, but one of the men pulls her the other direction.

"Oh no you don't, girl. We're through babysitting you."

#######

She'd been in the cell for a month, an entire month, when they toss her out at the community home.

It's a dark, damp looking, two story building made of crumbling bricks and basic forms. The inside is poorly lit, candles take the place of the infrequent electric lighting. There are scorch marks on the walls and tables where careless attendants had let them burn down or fall over, catching whatever was near on fire.

Her dress, the same dress she'd worn for a month, is taken from her when one of the old ladies forces her into the showers. Ice water blasts down at her as she rubs as much of the grim from her skin as she can. They give her a threadbare shirt and pants that are at least a size too big and do nothing to stave off the cold that permeates the drafty old building. She can already imagine how stiflingly hot it will be come summer.

The first meal she's given is stolen by a boy much taller than her.

"No more warm dinners with mommy and daddy, huh, princess?"

He has his friends hold her down while he smeared the remains of the mush down her shirt.

They threaten to do much worse, but one of the old ladies comes around and scares them off.

After that she tries to stay with groups, but none of them want her near.

"Go away," one of the girls, a little older than her, growls. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

In the first few days she's pushed down the stairs, locked in a trunk, has icy water dumped on her head, kicked out of her bunk, and has her blanket snatched away during the first freezing night.

After the first week she finds a small nook under the back porch steps where she can hid until bed. It's while she's there, huddling for warmth, that she hears a very loud, familiar voice.

"Listen, I got all the papers right here, lady. Just point me to the kid."

She peers out between the steps, squints to be sure who it is.

Mr. Abernathy is having a very noisy conversation with one of the old ladies in charge of the home. He's waving papers in her face, gesturing to the upper stories. He makes a wide swipe toward the house and says something very unflattering about the lady's dress before Madge has even crawled out to see why he's visiting.

"Mr. Abernathy?"

He turns, grinning, but his happy expression falters when he settles his eyes on her.

"What've they done to you, Pearl?"

Self-consciously she runs her hand through her tangled hair. It's matted on one side and one of the girls had cut off a hank while Madge was attempting to comb it out. She'd cleaned it as best she could, but the water was so cold and smelled so oddly it just never seemed to do the job right. The detergent they used in the laundry has given her a pale rash, or maybe it was from the cold, she isn't sure.

She's seen better days, she's well aware of that.

Madge hasn't even formed the full thought to tell him everything when he grabs her hand and begans pulling her with him. He turns with a final glare at the woman, "I'm taking the kid with me. If you think you can stop me, go ahead and try."

They're half-way down the entry when Mr. Abernathy grunts at her.

"Pick up your feet, sweetheart. Unless you want to stay in this hellhole."

She begins trotting beside him, he still has her hand firmly in his grasp. She'd follow no matter what. He had been friends with her parents. Wherever he's taking her has to be better than the community home. Still, she'd curious.

"Where are we going?" She asks, just above a whisper. Her voice is out of use.

He cuts his eyes at her. "My place."

She stops. "The Victor's Village? Why?"

He drops her hand, reaches up and takes her by the shoulder. "You're going to live with me, okay?"

When that doesn't get her moving again he sighs, rubs a hand over his bloodshot eyes.

"Look, I had papers made up giving me guardianship of you. I'm not going to let you rot in that place. Your father wouldn't want it."

His fingers reach up and pull a cobweb from her hair; it had probably gotten stuck there from the stairs.

"You don't belong there, sweetheart."

Madge is fairly certain no one belongs there, but she nods anyway.

After a few seconds, when he's sure she's convinced, he straightens up and frowns down at her. He takes off his coat and gently throws it around her shoulders, muttering unpleasantly about the state of her clothes.

When she's tightly bundled in his cologne and liquor soaked coat, he offers her his hand. "Lets get you home, Pearl."

#######

Mr. Abernathy's house is filthy. Littered with discarded bottles and other trash, she's barely able to make it to the stairs as she follows him to where her room will be.

"Bit of a mess," he admits. "I'll, uh, pick it up. Make it easier on you."

She nods. At least it's better than the community home.

He opens the last door on the second floor. The room has large windows on the two outside walls, a heavy wooden dresser, a wrought iron bed, a rocking chair…it's bigger than her old room…

"You can paint, if you want, buy new furniture, I just drug some stuff in here."

"It's great," she forces a smile.

"I tried to get your old stuff, when they auctioned it off, but they took most of it out of the District." He looks over the bed with a frown.

Madge is glad he hadn't gotten her old things, she doesn't think she could do with the reminders.

"Mr. Abernathy," she bites her lip, "what…what happened with my parents'…"

She can't bring herself to say 'bodies', which is stupid, she'd watched her father die and she's certain they killed her mother.

"I-no one has said, and I-I just…" hadn't had the strength to ask.

His eyes darken, "I don't know about Dan-your dad. They got your mom up at the hospital. I'm working on getting her out."

Her chin quivers and she blinks back tears. "Oh."

She isn't sure if death might've been a kinder fate for her already world weary mother, but the odds just never have been in her favor.

Mr. Abernathy had heard she was alive, had been dumped at the community home, from an overheard conversation a group of boys from the home were having at the Hob. Both had probably been there buying liquor.

"Everyone thought you were dead too," he tells her, his bloodshot eyes watching her sadly.

She thinks of her father, sacrificing his life for his District, even though she doubts anyone in it will ever know how brave he'd been, and feels a twinge of envy.

Madge wishes, not for the first time since everything had gone so horribly wrong, that she was with him.

She swallows down bile at her own selfishness and sets her eyes on the mug of tea Mr. Abernathy had made her, unable to look him in the eye. He's a Victor. He'd survived a Hunger Games Quarter Quell, he would think she was pathetic for such a thought, even if it would've saved him from having to take care of her.

"I'm sorry." She crosses her arms over his sticky table and buries her face in them.

A hand comes to rest on her head, strokes her hair soothingly. "You don't need to be sorry, Pearl."

Her mind tells her otherwise.

She wonders, as the tears start rolling down her cheeks and Mr. Abernathy pulls her into a tight hug, if there could be any good outcome to this story or if the odds were just never in any of their favor?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too. It's all hers.

"Mr. Abernathy, come on!"

Madge glances at her watch. They're going to be late, or at least she's going to be late. Mr. Abernathy can, and probably would, show up late to the Reaping if not for her, but she isn't a Victor and doesn't have that luxury.

Her foot taps on the lowest step.

"I'm leaving you."

She's half out the door when he comes stumbling down the stairs, nearly tripping over his feet.

He doesn't drink as much, not since he'd taken over care of her and her mother, but impending Reapings always make him worse. He needs the alcohol to numb him for another disappointing year she supposes.

"In a hurry, sweetheart?"

"Don't want to keep the Capitol waiting." She gives his soured look a faint smile.

He hates it when she makes light of the Reaping. It scares him, she knows that. Her name is still in the bowl, even just a few slips of paper, but there's nothing she can do about it. She still has two more Reapings after this.

"Mom asleep?" She asks, checking the stairs to make sure her mother hasn't wandered out into the hall.

"Don't worry," Mr. Abernathy tells her, a little sigh escaping his lips. "I dosed her up good. She won't wake up 'til you get back."

It bolsters her, his confidence that her name won't be called, helps ease the ache of anxiety settled in her stomach. He always reassures her that she won't be taken, he won't allow it, but they both know he has no say. If her name were to be called, she would go, and most likely die.

"It'd get you out," he'd told her, right before her first Reaping, when she asked what would happen if she were called. "Nothing, not the Capitol or the President himself would keep me from it."

She hopes it never comes to that. Whatever illicit means he has up his sleeve in case of such a thing scare her, and she hopes she never has to learn anything about them.

He offers her his arm and a little smile. "Come on beautiful, let's get this over with."

Madge forces a small smile and links her arm with his.

They make the trek to the Square in a painful silence. He walks her to the line and pulls her into a bone crushing hug, pressing a kiss into her hair, but doesn't say anything though, no words of encouragement or hopeful phrases. There's nothing to say, except a whispered, "See you when I get back, Pearl."

Madge nods into his shoulder and inhales the scent of detergent and his fancy Capitol cologne, trying to memorize it until he comes back. He's her rock and losing him, even temporarily, makes her uneasy.

Ever since he rescued her from the Community Home, taken her on as his responsibility, she's clung to him. He's never seemed to mind though. Madge and her mother are his family, he's told her as much, and he promised her she was no burden to him.

"I don't do anything I don't want to," he told her after she told him he didn't have to take care of her and her mother, once they'd gotten her released from the hospital the Peacekeepers had locked her up in.

"It's okay," Madge had assured him weakly. "I'm old enough. I could find work."

He'd given her a dark look, right before downing a long drink of his favorite white liquor. "No you aren't. Any job you'd find wouldn't be fit for someone like you."

"I'm not weak."

Mr. Abernathy had chuckled at that. "No, but you are a kid. And kids shouldn't have to struggle like that."

"Kids in the Seam do," she pointed out.

"They shouldn't have to," he told her as he opened another drink. "I'm not concerned with them though. I'm only concerned with you and that mother of yours."

"Besides," he shrugged, his gray eyes taking in his much less filth coated kitchen, "you two keep the house livable."

Years later she's still working out if he meant because they actually cleaned, or because he liked the company.

Madge stands awkwardly in her section, slightly apart from the other girls her age. None of them are really what she would call 'friends'. She's kept to herself since her father's death and disgrace, silently making her way through school, avoiding unnecessary conversations, trying not to make connections. No one would want to be her friend anyway. They never had, and being the daughter of a traitor, being marked and undoubtedly watched closely, only made her less friend material.

Someone bumps into her, nearly knocks her over.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" The dark haired girl pulls her back to her spot. Madge recognizes her from her literature class, Katniss Everdeen.

She's friendly enough, quiet and clipped, which Madge appreciates when they have to partner together for class or during athletics. Madge's mother has mentioned she and Katniss' mother were friends, ages ago, but if Katniss knows she never mentions it.

"It's okay," Madge mutters. It's hardly the first time someone has failed to see her.

"I'm just trying to see my sister," Katniss carries on, popping up on her toes and squinting over towards the twelve year olds section. "It's her first Reaping."

Madge nods. Firsts are always hard. Fifths weren't really all that much better, but then, at least no one would be put out if she were picked. Except Mr. Abernathy and her mother.

"I'm sure she'll be fine." Twelve year olds are hardly ever picked, after all. Another bit of wisdom Mr. Abernathy had passed on to her right before her first Reaping.

"Only got one slip in there," he'd said, more to himself than to her. "Odds are in your favor, I guarantee it."

Katniss nods anxiously, still craning her neck in her search for her sister.

When the ceremony begins, the Treaty is read, Effie Trinket plucks the names from the bowls, a pair of kids, one fourteen and one seventeen, both from the Seam, Madge sighs.

As soon as the unlucky pair are shuffled off the stage, the ropes drop and the survivors scatter, living to be Reaped another year.

Mr. Abernathy's eyes catch hers, right before he follows the cotton candy pink Effie off the stage, and he gives her a relieved sort of smile.

Be safe, Pearl. I'll be home soon.

Madge nods to him, letting him know she'll be fine, and begins to shuffle quietly off, to start her lonely journey back to the Victor's Village, when someone catches her arm.

"My dad wanted me to ask if you wanted to have dinner with us."

Gale Hawthorne, tall, dark headed, with bright, mischievous gray eyes, is watching her, waiting for her response.

Mr. Hawthorne has asked every year since her first Reaping, since her parents had died, if she wanted to have dinner with his family. She isn't sure why. He and Katniss' father sell her berries and roots on Sunday, but other than that she has very little interaction with him.

"Probably thinks you get lonely up here. Most people don't consider your mother much company," Mr. Abernathy had told her once when she'd mentioned it.

She did, but she was use to her solitude. It was safe. It was familiar. People exhausted her anyway.

She had Mr. Abernathy and her mother, and they were all Madge needed as far as she was concerned.

"Oh, um, no, I'm sorry, I can't." She shakes her head and forces a smile. Not even Mr. Hawthorne's very attractive son was going to get her to leave her bubble of comfort.

He crosses his arms, a little crease forms between his eyes. "Why not?"

"I have to get back to my mother." It's her standard answer, has been for five years. It also happens to be the truth.

Her mother doesn't do well during the Games, never has. Mr. Abernathy's managed, over their years of living with him, to settle her nerves, make her headaches ease up somehow, but with the Games comes a fresh kind of hell. Though the most recent year wasn't so bad, her mother had managed to go outside and help with the garden even, every Reaping was a new possibility for trouble. Her headaches, her anxiety and fear, might already be back.

"She's welcome to come too," Gale tells her, crossing his arms and giving her a wary look. "If this is about last Friday-"

"No," she cuts him off, a fierce blush creeping up her cheeks.

It had been entirely an innocent, she was certain of that.

Madge had been returning some books to the library after school, a cookbook she'd found useless and several boring histories Mr. Abernathy had finally finished up. He was with her, of course, dropped her off at the Library before heading off to the Hob to procure himself a week's worth of liquor.

"Just a few bottles." He'd given her a stern look. "You wait here for me, hear? It'll be dark soon and I don't want you wandering around in the streets by yourself."

"And a drunk is going to defend me?" She'd asked him playfully.

He'd scowled. "I won't taste a drop 'til we're home."

So, after finding another book, this time one over knitting and one over computers for Mr. Abernathy, she'd settled herself down on the lowest step outside the library and started reading.

She'd just about figured out what figure 1a was trying to show her, when someone came up behind her and started reading over her shoulder.

"Looks boring," a deep voice rumbled over her.

Madge turned her head so quickly her nose nearly collided with the stubble covered cheek at her ear.

She almost fell off the step, the only thing that kept her from it was Gale's large hand catching her by the arm and steadying her.

"You scared me," she told him, trying and failing to sound annoyed. It was hard to be upset with attention from Gale, even irritating attention.

"Didn't mean to," he shrugged as he stood and straightened out. Walking around her, he plucked the book from her hands and flipped through it, making a face. "You knit?"

"Not yet." But that was the plan. She wanted to make Mr. Abernathy a scarf for his next birthday.

Gale offered the book back to her. As she reached for it though, he pulled it from her grasp with a grin.

"Give it back," she told him through gritted teeth, getting to her feet.

His grin widened. "I thought you were polite, Undersee?"

He was only winding her up, something about toying with her seemed to excite him, though she didn't know why exactly.

"Please," she finally managed to grind out. "Give me my book back."

Seemingly happy, Gale lowered the book, which he'd hoisted over his head, well out of her reach, and handed it back to her.

Snatching it back, Madge gives him a sharp look.

"I was only playing with you," he apologized.

She knew that, but she still wasn't in the mood for his little games.

"Maybe I can make it up to you." His expression settled into perfect innocence. "How about next week you come by for dinner? We can have strawberries; those are you favorite, right?"

Madge stuffed her book into her bag and rolled her eyes. "Like after the Reaping, next week?"

"Perfect."

"No."

His face fell. "Why not?"

Just as Madge was about to tell him it was none of his business 'why not', someone came up behind Gale, grabbing him by the collar and tugging him back. It wasn't until he was gone from it that Madge realized how much in her space Gale had been.

"Lady doesn't need a reason, boy," Mr. Abernathy growled, giving Gale a shove and nearly sending him to the ground. He turned back to Madge, giving her a worried up and down. "He hurt you?"

"No. No, Mr. Abernathy, this is Gale," Madge told him, putting herself between them. "We were just talking."

"Looked like harassment to me."

"I was just asking her to come over for dinner after the Reaping," Gale muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Mr. Abernathy gave him a narrow look, mumbling to himself before nudging Madge. "Let's get going, sweetheart, your mother'll be waiting."

"You kick that little bastard in the balls next time he gets near you," he told her once they were out of earshot of Gale.

"Mr. Abernathy, he wasn't bothering me." Not really. Well…maybe a little.

"He was, trust me." He cut her a look. "You don't want any part in a boy like that. I've heard about him, kid. He's only after one thing."

Madge had stopped, nose wrinkled up. "What're you talking about?"

With a groan, Mr. Abernathy had run his hand over his face, pulling down and giving her an exhausted look.

"He was flirting with you, Pearl."

Blinking, Madge just stared. Gale hadn't been flirting with her, she would've known if he had, wouldn't she? Then again, she'd never been flirted with before, maybe she wouldn't know.

"Gale has plenty of girls. He doesn't need to flirt with me," she'd assured him. "He was just getting a head start asking me to dinner for his dad, like he does every year."

Mr. Abernathy had rolled his eyes at that, grumbled some more to himself, before gesturing for Madge to come along.

He hadn't mentioned it again, but he had asked her about her plans for after the Reaping.

"Coming straight home, right?"

"Yes, for the tenth time, I'm coming home after the Reaping," she'd sighed as she undid her attempt at knitting for what felt like the thousandth time.

Leaning over the back of her chair, Mr. Abernathy pressed a kiss into her hair before flopping down on the couch beside her mother. "Good. People act funny after. Don't need to be worrying about you while I'm off."

He'd be worried no matter what, but she would at least give him the reassurance that she wasn't going to be out wandering the streets of District Twelve, with or without a boy.

She'd avoided Gale after that, narrowly missing him in the halls between classes, denying him to ask her to come to dinner for his dad. Even if Mr. Abernathy was wrong, which she's sure he is, she couldn't get the idea out of her head.

"I was just-I didn't mean to upset you," Gale sighs, running his hand through his hair and setting it on end. "I just figured if I started asking early I might get a different answer."

Madge shakes her head, feeling a little bad. He actually does look disappointed.

"I really do have to get back to my mother." She gives him an apologetic smile. "Tell your dad thanks, though."

With that she takes off, ducking through the crowd and out of sight.

#######

A little confused, Gale shakes his head as Madge Undersee's blonde hair vanishes into the crush around him. Asher almost laughs at his son's expression.

He's never had this much trouble getting a girl to hang out with him, and the anomaly is clearly unsettling for him.

Granted, it was Asher that had started the yearly tradition of asking her to dinner.

"Poor kid just lost her dad," he'd told Gale as he'd drug him along with him that first year, to where Madge stood alone, watching helplessly as Haymitch Abernathy was taken off to the Capitol. He'd hoped seeing someone close to her own age would put her at ease, though Gale's growth spurt made him look more like a grown man than a boy only a few years older than her. "Haymitch is the only sensible adult around…she probably needs a break."

And since it was Asher that cost her the life she'd had, her father and home and sense of security, he felt it was only right he offer her that break.

He owed her father a debt. Mayor Undersee had sacrificed his life and his family, to protect all the men that had planned the strike. Asher knew one dinner wouldn't even begin to cover the price paid for his life, but it was a start.

She'd been chewing her lip, wide, worried eyes fixed on the door Haymitch had disappeared through up at the Justice Building when Gale and his dad reached her.

"How are you today, little lady?"

Madge had looked a little wary, her expression guarded, but she'd forced a small smile for them. "I'm fine, sir."

As much as he tried not to stare at her, it was hard not to.

She was supposed to be dead. Her father had been executed, that's what the rumors were anyway, and Madge and her mother were supposed to have been dead too.

"I wish I knew why they let her live," he'd told one of the men that had formerly been on his crew in a hushed tone as they walked back from the mines a few weeks after the girl had turned up.

"To show us they have ultimate control," Jude Everdeen sighed. "They'll kill us and destroy what we love most. They killed Undersee then locked up his wife and sent the kid to that hellhole community home. Nothing he can do about it, nothing we'd be able to do about it."

It was a grim thought, but ultimately, it was probably as close to the truth as they'd get.

Looking at the girl, he remembers thinking how small she looked. Worn and pale and terrified, like some wounded animal awaiting the death blow. All because of him and a few foolish others thinking they were going to change things with one small strike.

He'd squinted down at her. Haymitch had clearly gotten her new clothes. Asher couldn't even imagine the price her dress would fetch at the Hob.

"I was wondering if you'd like to come to dinner with my family tonight?"

She'd frowned up at him, some of her pale hair escaping from her ponytail when she shook her head. "No thank you, sir."

Smiling at her unfaltering politeness, something he wished would rub off on Gale, he nodded. "The offer's always there. Just tell Gale if you ever want to take it up."

Her eyes had widened at that, flittering over to Gale and taking him in uneasily before giving him an unenthusiastic nod.

"She would've said yes the other night if her d-if Abernathy hadn't come up and manhandled me," Gale grumbled.

"What happened to all that charm you were bragging about the other night?" Rory asks with a smirk. "Or did you only have enough for one girl?"

"At least I have enough for any girls," Gale snaps back.

"Boys," Asher silences them quickly. If he doesn't they'll end up in a knock-down drag-out fight and he doesn't think Hazelle can stand the embarrassment. Besides, there are more Peacekeepers around on Reaping Day, and they aren't likely to be very tolerant of a brotherly scuffle in the middle of the Square.

Maybe next year, Asher thinks wearily, he'll get to start repaying his debt to Mayor Undersee.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine.

Asher gently rocks Posy back and forth. The ancient rocking chair, passed down through the Hawthorne family since before Panem, creaks with the effort.

She'd woken screaming almost an hour earlier, bringing the entire house into the tiny lean-to that functioned as her bedroom Asher and Gale had constructed only a few years before. She couldn't stay in his and Hazelle's room forever and he wasn't about to put his little girl through sharing a room with the boys.

"I had a bad dream," she'd sobbed onto Asher's shoulder as he'd picked her up and rubbed her back, assuring her everything was okay.

The boys and Hazelle had gone back to bed, but Asher had stayed up and held Posy until her breathing evened out and the tears dried on her cheeks. He didn't dare put her back in bed; it was too agonizing to see her so scared.

His eyes drift shut and he slips into a tense sort of sleep for a few hours before the loose board across the small room groans, causing his eyes to fly open.

Gale is up and dressed, has a guilty look on his face. "Didn't mean to wake you."

Rubbing his eyes, Asher gives him a weary smile. "That time already?"

It was Sunday, his only day off. Hunting day.

"I can go by myself, dad," Gale tells him, his voice a deep, hoarse whisper. "You need some rest."

Asher shakes his head and gets to his feet, shifting Posy in his arms. "I'm alright. I don't like you out there on your own anyways."

It was bad enough Gale often snuck out after school; Asher at least wanted to be there one day of the week to protect his son, especially since Gale is going to be in the mines soon. His abundance of energy, his still boyish eagerness, is going to be wiped out after a few weeks of mining and Asher wants to burn every detail of his son's happiness into his memory before that inevitably happens.

Popping his back, Asher squints at the boys' doorway. "Rory not coming?"

He'd been asking for ages and Asher was ready to let him. Gale had been about his age when he'd first taken him, it only seems fair.

Gale rolls his eyes. "I tried to wake him up, but he just went back to sleep."

He shrugs, as if to say 'his loss' then turns to start packing a few scraps of food for the trip into the woods.

Asher settles Posy in the bed beside Hazelle, giving them both soft kisses before he digs out his clothes and quietly dresses in the bathroom.

He and Gale slip under the fence as the sun starts to peek over the horizon, streaking the sky with pinks and yellows.

"We'll head to the lake first, try some fishing, then check your snares," Asher tells him as they slowly make their way through the underbrush.

"Then the strawberry bush?" Gale prompts, his eyes nonchalantly searching the trees for birds and squirrels. He's trying to not sound eager about it, but the fact that he brought it up makes Asher chuckle.

"Looking forward to the delivery?"

Gale stuffs his hands into his pockets and shrugs. "No-well, I guess, they overpay. That's not so bad."

Asher grins over at him. "So it's not the person paying you're so eager about?"

"Anyone who isn't Haymitch is fine by me," Gale answers, smoothly ignoring the question before making a face.

The look of absolute disgust on Gale's face at the thought of District Twelve's only Victor makes Asher boom with laughter. His eyes crinkle up at the edges and his smile widens when Gale's nostrils flare in indignation.

Reaching out, Asher pats Gale on the shoulder, though his comfort is probably diminished by his continued chuckling.

When they reach the edge of the woods, spotting the small lake in the distance, they both squint into the now bright morning sun, down to the water where two figures are already fishing.

"Figures," Gale mutters. "I thought we'd beat them for sure this time."

They make their way through the dew covered grass, down to the lakeside, greeting the pair of earlier risers.

"How early did you get up, Jude?"

Jude jerks his head towards his smirking daughter. "Don't look at me. Katniss seems to think getting here is a competition."

"We've already caught three fish," she tells Gale offhandedly.

Gale grumbles to himself as he jogs off to find the pair of fishing poles he and Asher had hidden away years before.

Prodding the fish with his foot, Asher gives Katniss an approving look and she grins back before turning her head back to the lake.

When Asher and Jude had first run into each other in the woods, years before either had any children, they'd had a silent agreement to leave the other alone. But after the failed strike, the Mayor's death, the reshuffling of the crews, when they'd come across one another again, this time with their kids, they'd formed a partnership.

Asher taught Katniss snares and Jude taught Gale the bow. It was the only way their families were going to survive if anything ever happened again. The kids needed to be as prepared as possible.

It was a good agreement. They caught and killed more as a group than they ever could've alone or with just their kids, and that gave them more to trade with on top of broadening their skills.

"We split everything fifty-fifty," Asher had told Jude the first time they'd gone into town with their extra bounty.

"You have two more mouths to feed than me," Jude had pointed out.

He wasn't doing anymore of the work though. Fair was fair.

They'd settled into an easy friendship. For a while Asher had even suspected that during their after school time in the woods, Gale would develop a crush on Katniss. She was pretty enough, strong, stable, but when he'd brought it up he'd just gotten a groan of annoyance and rolled eyes.

"She's like a sister," he'd said.

Asher had just laughed at him, ruffled his hair. Gale would see Katniss in a new light when he was ready. Unfortunately, Asher suspected it would only be after someone else realized she was a catch. Or at least he had thought that until he realized his son enjoyed his weekly trip to the Victors' Village for a little more than the extra pay it brought.

They spend a few hours fishing before Gale and Katniss move off to find some squirrel and the men go to check the traps.

"Don't forget the strawberries." Asher gestures to the wild bush across the clearing where they'd snared a small rabbit.

Jude pulls out a small pair of bag and they head over, carefully plucking the little red berries and dropping them in.

Two bags, one to sell at the bakery and the other for the Victors' Village trip.

"You take these squirrels and strawberries to the bakery and Gale and me will go to the Village," Asher says as he straightens back up after his bag is full.

Jude nods. "Might be able to get some bread from Kolach too. He's always more generous during the Games."

It was one of the only bright spots of the Hunger Games, the fact that most people seemed to realize how close they are to death and act accordingly. Pay goes up and despite the grim programming, the Everdeens and Hawthornes eat well for a short time.

"She still not take up the offer?" Jude asks after his bag is full, a small frown causing his prematurely lined face to wrinkle more.

Asher shakes his head. He doesn't need any hints to know who 'she' is.

Jude knew about the guilt Asher felt over the Mayor and what had happened to his wife and daughter in the weeks and months after his death. He'd tried to convince Katniss to ask the girl over after school, just to give her a break from her mother and Abernathy, but that hadn't gone any better than Asher's attempts to have her over for dinner after Reapings.

"She told Katniss she really had to get home," had been Jude's explanation.

No other excuse, no elaboration, just a simple 'no, I have to get home' and she ended the questioning. Katniss wasn't nearly as persistent as Gale.

"Poor kid," Jude mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Nodding his agreement, Asher sighs. He worries about the girl, out of guilt, and because it seems like no one else can be bothered to. Her mother is a chronic case, some vaguely defined illness that Abernathy tiptoes around when questioned about. Then there's Abernathy himself.

Asher doesn't like to think of himself as a gossip, but he hears things. He doesn't know Haymitch Abernathy, not well enough to form a solid opinion of him anyway, but he does know that it sits poorly with him that the Victor had just been able to go to the Community home and snatch up a child without much trouble.

It was suspicious, even Jude agreed.

"But what can we do?" He'd grunted as he'd helped Asher push a broken coal cart. "Hell, he probably just made a generous donation and-" he snapped his fingers "-here's a kid."

There were no signs he'd ever hurt the girl. She was well dressed and clean, made good grades, never said anything, but then, Asher often thought, a lot of kids don't.

The fact that she keeps to herself, according to Katniss anyway, doesn't do much to dissuade him from thinking the worst.

"But she always has a full sack at lunch," Katniss had told him one day when he'd come over to see Jude about something. "Offers me crackers and candy everyday."

A well packed lunch box and pretty dresses, thick socks and warm hats, aren't the only things in life though, and he hopes the girl knows that. He hopes his paranoia is unfounded.

"I'll see how she looks," Asher says, glancing around to see if Gale and Katniss are anywhere to be seen.

Jude just sighs.

#######

After stopping at a few places in Town, making sure sells, Gale follows his dad to the edge of Town and to their back way up to the Victors' Village.

It isn't necessary to take such a secretive track up to the Village, but it sort of is. Cray isn't a stickler for the rules really, but ages ago there had been an annoying Peacekeeper that had caused them considerable trouble when he'd questioned why they were going up there.

"Friends of ole Haymitch?" He'd asked with a nasty sneer.

They'd very nearly had to turn out their game bags, stuffed with strawberries and their week's worth of dinner, to the scrawny bastard, but had been saved when Madge and her mother had come up on the scene.

"Are you coming up to fix the porch?" Madge had asked without so much as a hint that such a thing had never been discussed.

Gale had stared at her, dumbfounded by her nonsensical question. They'd never talked to her about fixing a porch and how would they anyway? They certainly weren't equipped to do any construction.

His dad hadn't missed a beat though, nodded firmly, certainly, before looking back at the Peacekeeper.

"I am." He'd gestured to Gale. "Hope you don't mind me bringing my son along. He could use a little hard labor."

"Well I only have enough money to pay one of you," Madge had answered back, an irritatingly level expression on her face and her hands on her hips. She'd given the Peacekeeper an unimpressed half glance. "You have something in your teeth."

He'd hurried off after that, his lip carefully staying over his top teeth.

"Quick thinking," Gale's dad had sighed.

Madge had shrugged her carefully even expression never leaving her face. "You should come up the back way. It's how Haymitch comes back when he's been drinking."

His dad's happy expression had soured at that. Gale was no fan of Haymitch Abernathy, but his dad was suspicious of him.

"You don't just go get a kid from the orphanage like you get a puppy," he'd told Gale when he'd asked about it.

Gale didn't know much about puppies, other than that he wasn't allowed to make jokes about eating the neighbors', but he'd thought he understood what his dad was saying.

After that, Gale had kept a closer eye on the quiet little former Mayor's daughter, always making sure she wasn't hurt, had food, and was dressed well. Haymitch Abernathy had cleaned up his act some, but he still shouldn't have been allowed to just up and take a kid.

Madge was pretty and quiet and sweet. She tried to hand off her extra food everyday at lunch, according to Katniss. It was hard not to like someone like her once you noticed they existed.

At some point protectiveness had blossomed into a bit of a crush, even if he was hard pressed to admit it to anyone. It wasn't like it would ever go anywhere.

She was fun to talk to, even if some of the time his flirting seemed to be edging on annoying to her. Plus, she'd defended him against Haymitch's overly protective behavior on more than one occasion. If she didn't have a soft spot for him then he'd sign up for the mines early, he was that certain she liked him back.

When the back of the Victors' Village comes into view, Gale quickly finds Madge's house.

It's in better shape than the other houses, mostly, he thinks, because Madge actually has had Gale and his father do minor work on it since her lie.

First had been the back porch, then the roof, some minor plumbing issues, and once she'd had Gale come by himself to paint one of the guestrooms. That had been during the Games of course, Haymitch would've had a fit if he'd have known Gale was in his house doing work without adult supervision, other than Madge's mother that is.

As long as Gale's dad is present, Haymitch seems content to go off, taking Madge's mother to the market, and generally just staying out of their way while they work as long as they're gone at a reasonable hour.

"A man has to sleep," he'd told them when they'd asked why. "Plus the racket hurts 'Tilda's head."

At least he's looking out for someone Gale supposes.

Madge and her mother are out in their garden when Gale spots them. They aren't wearing the well made dresses Haymitch buys then, just plain brown pants and what looks to be dirt covered shirts that are several sizes too big for them. Even though they're probably Haymitch's disgusting old clothes, Gale likes the look on Madge. It's almost possible to imagine her living in the Seam, working like his mother, while she's dressed shabbily. He tries not to though. Madge, no matter how she's dressed, isn't meant for the Seam. It would be like hanging a chandelier in his family's kitchen. Beautiful, but it would never function properly and in the end it would either be stolen or broken.

Madge's mother spots them first, straightening up and giving them one of her airy smiles.

After a moment Madge turns to them, dirt smeared across her cheek and sweat trickling from under her floppy hat, down her neck and into the collar of her too big shirt.

"Brought you some strawberries," Gale hears his dad say, nudging Gale with his elbow to show the women the bag.

Shaking off his temporary distraction of watching the bead of perspiration roll down Madge's neck, Gale holds the bag out.

Madge doesn't smile, but then she rarely does, as she carefully takes the bag from him. She weighs it in her hands for a minute before jerking her head toward the house. "I'll go get your money."

While Gale follows her, his dad stays at the edge of the garden, probably to have an awkward conversation with Mrs. Undersee.

Madge's bare feet slap softly on the wood of the steps, across the back porch, before she pulls open the creaky screen door. As she disappears a way into the house, leaving the strawberries on the counter, Gale stays in the doorway, propping the screen open.

"I can fix the squeaking if you'd like?" He offers, his voice bouncing through the empty kitchen after her.

She reappears, a small drawstring bag now in place of the strawberries in her hand, her eyebrows knitted together. "That's okay. Mr. Abernathy likes the noise."

Even though Gale thinks that's a stupid reason not to fix something, he keeps his thought to himself.

She holds the bag out to him.

Gale considers letting it slip though his fingers, the coins would scatter and he'd get to spend a few more minutes with her retrieving them. Maybe he could talk her into coming to dinner, tempt her with the promise of his mother's rabbit stew, but then he remembers his dad out under the hot sun and the fact that in a few short weeks he's going to be another Capitol paid miner. It would be unfair to both of them to even start down that road. No matter how much he'd like to.

Even if he thinks one kiss would be enough, just so he could know what it was like. It would keep him for a lifetime he thinks.

He takes the bag with a soft grunt of thanks, leaving off his now customary joke that there are better things to pay him for (his dad would kill him if he ever heard that stupid little quip), then jerks his head back toward the outside. "Guess I'll go."

Her lips pucker and Gale feels his stomach lurch at the sight.

"No joke?"

Gale shrugs. "Without Haymitch here the thrill is gone. What fun is it without the threat of a possible beating?"

A tiny tug twitches at the corners of her lips, one of her rare smiles making a fractional appearance. "Who says I can't hit you?"

"I might enjoy that though," he says, leaning in just enough to catch the scent of earth on her skin, before he thinks enough to stop himself.

She snorts. "I imagine you would."

They stand there for a few more seconds, the silence filling the void their flirting had created, before Gale decides to break it by sneezing. Loudly.

"Sorry," he mutters, hoping he hadn't just sprayed spit all over her.

She just shrugs and brushes past him, the screen screeching as she holds it open for him.

When they get back to the garden Gale hears his dad's deep booming laugh roll over him as he gives Madge's mother a bright smile.

"That would solve it, wouldn't it?"

Madge's mother nods, her vacant grin turning to Gale and her daughter.

"What would solve what?" Madge asks, her eyebrows pulling together again.

Gale's dad gives him a little wink before smiling begningly at Madge. "You and your mom are going to come to dinner tonight."

She stares for a minute, blinks, then looks at her mother for confirmation.

"It'll be nice to have a real meal." Her mother tells her as she picks a cherry tomato and considers it for a moment before pressing it to her lips. "While Haymitch is gone I mean."

She pops the tomato into her mouth and smiles.

Gale glances over and finds Madge wrinkling her nose, pressing and unpressing her lips together as she tries to think of a way to escape the fate her mother has put upon her. Then, apparently seeing no escape, she sighs. With a smile that's almost a grimace, she looks at Gale's dad. "What time do we need to be there?"

#######

Madge pulls her hair up then let's it down again. It doesn't matter really, but she wants it to look nice anyways.

Her mother comes up behind her and gently places her hand on her shoulders. "You look fine either way."

Trying not to roll her eyes, even in her hazy state her mother has never really had to work at looking nice, Madge decides to pull her hair up. At least then there won't be the chance of accidentally getting food in it.

They take off, around the Town, along little footpaths Mr. Abernathy had pounded out over the years, until they come out near the old trading post, the coal dust covered building where Mr. Abernathy gets his liquor.

It makes her uneasy, being so near it. She worries about being seen, being arrested just for simple proximity and ending up back in another jail cell for the duration of the Games, until Mr. Abernathy can come and get her out.

Madge knows she can survive there, she's done it before, but she doesn't want to. Plus, her mother had nearly died during her incarceration. When Mr. Abernathy had finally procured her freedom, paying, Madge assumes, an unimaginable amount, she'd had pneumonia and nearly died before they could get Mrs. Everdeen to attend to her.

"Percussion will help," she'd told them as she'd shown them how to pound on her mother's almost skeletal back with a cupped palm. "It helps break it up."

Madge had tried to help, but she was too small and too weak herself. Mr. Abernathy had been the one to get up at all hours of the night, helping her mother cough and forcing her to drink more water than she probably had in a lifetime.

"I'm sorry," Madge had sobbed on his shoulder. He'd saved her from that horrible place and she couldn't even help him get a good night's rest.

He'd shushed her, scooped her up and smoothed down her hair, still frazzled and broken from her time in the community home.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart," he'd told her, smiling and wrinkling up the corners of his pinkened eyes.

"But you need to sleep too," she whimpered.

He only grunted at that, a dismissive, harsh noise. "I don't sleep much anyways."

Later, over her years of living in his house in the Victors' Village, she would realize how truthful he was being. Days would go by when he didn't sleep or would wake, flailing and yelling. Though, Madge often told herself, he seemed to be getting better. She liked to think that was partly because of her and her mother's presence. He wasn't alone, and his overly active mind seemed to know that.

At the time though, she'd thought it only another comfort to comfort her.

She didn't deserve it, but she'd felt small and helpless and, damn it, she wanted to be comforted.

Mr. Abernathy had rocked her to sleep on those nights, like she was very young, carried her to bed and tucked her in with a scratchy kiss to her forehead before leaving her to help her mother.

He had done so much for them, and Madge still feels that she owed him for all of it.

That's part of the reason she hates going to the Hawthornes' for dinner. Mr. Abernathy is overprotective to a fault, but she thinks he's earned that right.

She can justify letting Gale into the house for jobs, like the painting in the guestroom, because she isn't really alone with him. Her mother is there, even if, in most ways, she really isn't. This is different though. This is leaving the safety of their house, their sanctuary, and venturing out into the nest of the people her father had died to protect, even if none of them knew that.

With a sigh, Madge starts to trail along after her mother, staring down at the little handdrawn map Gale had made.

"If you get lost just tell them you're expected at the Hawthorne house," Mr. Hawthorne had told them when Madge had hesitantly taken the scrap of paper, willing her hands not to shake as she studied it.

"Maybe I should just come and pick you up," Gale had offered, frowning down at his chicken scratch handwriting on the paper.

"We'll be fine," Madge had quickly told him, stuffing his map into her pocket.

She'd studied that stupid map for the rest of the day, not really memorizing a single thing but the slant of his 'a's and the crookedness of his 'h's.

Stupid, silly thing to do. That's what she'd told herself each time she'd caught herself staring at the names of the streets that twisted through the Seam, carefully printed out for her. She was being ridiculous and she knew it.

Still, when they came up on one of the rows to turn down, she recognized it. They at least wouldn't get lost.

#######

They turn up ten minutes earlier than he and Gale had told them to and Madge apologizes for the first five minutes.

"We just left early to give us time and I guess we walked a little too fast and-"

"Don't worry," Asher assures her. "There's no harm in a little eagerness."

He means it as a joke, a little jab at Gale's crush, a bit of a hint maybe if she hadn't already sensed it, and she goes scarlet. "I'm not eager."

"To see the boy, love," her mother explains unnecessarily, her eyes fixed on the clouds. She drops her gaze before Madge can say anything in her defense and holds a tin out to him. "We made chocolate dipped strawberries. Don't tell Haymitch. They're his favorite."

It takes some effort not to laugh at her transition. Matilda Undersee is a little more wily than most give her credit for. She'd been the one to suggest he invite her to dinner to convince Madge.

"He likes her, doesn't he?" She'd asked after Gale had followed Madge into the house for payment. "She's very fond of him. I can tell."

Asher had given her a long look, wondering why she was bringing it up.

"He should ask her out," she finally said, picking a little cherry tomato and popping it into her mouth.

"I don't think Haymitch would like that very much," Asher had told her, remembering Gale's tale about the library.

She turned and smiled, her eyes fixed on some empty point beyond his shoulder. "Oh, Haymitch won't like any boy asking her out. He'll respect Madge's decision, even if he doesn't like it." Her lips twitched up. "Or I'll make him."

Asher laughed, trying to keep it low as he studied Mrs. Undersee. The thought of her intimidating Haymitch Abernathy is comical, but he could picture it clearly. Finally, he gave her a small smile.

"Well, I don't think it matters much. Gale asked her to come to our place for dinner and she turned him down flat."

"Madge is wary of people," she said, her eyebrows knitting together. "She just needs someone to hold her hand."

"Hold her hand?" Asher asked, not really following her train of thought.

"If I were to go with her…" She trailed off, her eyes following a butterfly that had fluttered into the garden.

Asher grinned. "Are you trying to get an invitation to dinner, Mrs. Undersee?"

"Call me Matilda," she said simply. Her eyes drifted from the butterfly and back to Asher. "And if we both came she couldn't back out." Her lips twitch up sheepishly. "Besides, neither of us is much good at cooking. We haven't had a real meal since Haymitch left. I'm sure Madge is starved."

Asher laughed at the simplicity of her little plan. "That would solve it, wouldn't it?"

She'd been right, Madge had agreed, even if a bit reluctantly.

Matilda is definitely more wily than anyone gave her credit for.

Carefully, Asher takes the tin from her and gestures for them to follow him inside.

It's tiny and cramped, not nearly enough room for three full grown adults and one that would be sooner than either of his parents would like, but there's nothing to be done about that. It had been hell getting the permit for Posy's little room, he couldn't imagine the rings he'd have to jump through for Gale to get his own room, especially if he only ended up moving out.

Madge and her mother stand out, pale and soft in the harsh colors and dim light of the house, looking around the room in wonder.

He feels a little sting of envy for them. They've only ever lived in comfort, above the candy shop, the mayoral mansion, then the house in the Victors' Village. There were few cold nights for them.

Mentally, he slaps himself. The few cold nights they did have were his fault. Cold and hunger and fear, biting, aching uncertainty, those were things they should've never had to experience, and they had, all because of him.

His expression must worry them, because Madge gives him a soft smile. "Are you okay, sir?"

Shaking the thoughts off, he'll never make up to the Mayor for what happened to him and his family, but this is at least a small gesture, Asher smiles. "Just wondering where the kids are."

As if they'd heard his lie, Gale, Rory, and Vick come tumbling in, the older two with chairs in hand.

"Got 'em," Rory grunts, dropping the chair to the floor with a clatter.

"Don't be so ruff. These aren't ours," Gale tells him sharply as he sets his chair down gently.

"Stop telling me what to do," Rory snaps.

Not for the first time, Asher wishes the boys were a little more like Vick. It's nice to have one child with an even temperament.

"Rory," Asher steps in. "They aren't ours. Be careful."

He opens his mouth to argue, but then his eyes widen. "You really came."

Argument forgotten, Rory just stares at the women, for once in his life speechless.

The back door opens and Hazelle steps in, Posy at her heels, chattering away about her doll. They stop, just like Rory, and stare when they spot Madge and her mother.

Hazelle's mouth breaks into a grin. "I'm so glad you made it."

#######

Dinner goes easily, a little too quickly for Gale's taste.

Madge and her mother are quiet, careful, easy to please guests. They take small portions, answer questions, offer to help clean up afterwards.

"You don't have to help, 'Tilda, you're a guest," Vick had told her when she'd tried to help clear the table.

She'd stopped, stared at him for a moment, a little crease formed between her eyes.

"Matilda," she corrected him softly.

"Oh," Vick frowned. "Doesn't Haymitch call you 'Tilda?"

Her lips turned down. "Yes, but he's the only one."

She's quiet after that, clears the table despite the protests.

"It's his pet name for her," Madge explains to him a few minutes later, as she helps Rory and Vick carry the extra pair of chairs out to the porch. "She isn't mad. She just has...quirks."

Quirks, Gale thinks, is a gentle way to say she's nuttier than a squirrel, but he keeps that thought to himself. Madge is there and talking, even if only tiny amounts and mostly to Vick, he doesn't want to set her back by insulting her mother.

When they step back in Madge's mother is on the couch, hands over her ears and tears streaming down her cheeks. The Game is on, the television must've turned on by itself, mandatory viewing.

"Mom," Madge sighs as she crosses the room and drops down in front of her, getting coal dust on her dress when her knees press it to the floor. "Mom, it's okay. It's just like home. Just think of something else."

She doesn't say anything back, just nods and closes her eyes, taking deep, shuddering breaths.

After fifteen minutes, after the spectacular and bloody death of the boy from One, signaling the beginning of the end of the Games for the year, only two Tributes left, Madge finally gets her mother up. She gives the room a small, apologetic smile, then head for the door.

"Thanks for dinner Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne," she tells them, forcing her smile up. "It was lovely."

Her mother nods then mumbles an echo, "Lovely."

"I'll walk you back," Gale says, nudging Vick out of the way.

Madge starts to protest, "No, we're fine. We have each other. I don't want you walking back alone."

"I'll be fine," he tells her. This won't be the first time he's come home after dark, and at least he won't be stumbling around, a little drunk and spirits high from an evening at the slag heap. He's got soft steps, hunter's feet as his dad calls them, and he's big. No one will mess with him.

Madge and her loopy mother on the other hand...

She doesn't look convinced, but her mother latches onto Gale's arm and doesn't let go.

While he'd rather it be Madge clinging to him, her mother is nice, even if she is a little odd, and he knows that if his mother were having some kind of breakdown he'd want someone to be nice to her.

Looking wary, Madge leads the way.

Gale follows her through the Seam, along the path he'd drawn for her earlier in the day, until they get within eyeshot of the Hob.

Madge eyes the building from a distance before she cuts across, deviating from the course.

"Where are you-"

"Shhh," Madge presses her finger to her lips. "Just follow me."

They cut into the woods. Looking down, Gale sees the dirt is worn underfoot, battered down over what must've been years. Another secret path.

It doesn't take much time to come up to the back of the Victors' Village, through the thick brush in the treeline surrounding it. Out and then up to the back porch of the house.

They'd left the back porch light on, and Gale feels a twinge of jealousy that they have almost uninterrupted electricity and his has probably already been cut off for the night.

It's hard to feel upset for too long though, when Madge's mother bustles into the house, quickly leaving Gale in the yellow glow of the porch light with her daughter.

Gale swallows hard as he tries to think of something to say.

"Did-How was dinner?"

He doubts Haymitch cooks rabbit stew for her. He can afford better, Gale thinks bitterly.

"It was really good," she answers quickly. "I liked it."

Nodding, Gale scrambles for another topic, he isn't ready to leave just yet.

"How long have you had your back door?" He finally asks, jerking his head toward the treeline and her hidden path.

She shrugs. "It's not mine, none of them are. Mr. Abernathy made it, them, before I was even born. He just showed them to me so I could...get around a little better."

So you can avoid people.

It explains a lot about her, actually, how she ghosts around so easily. It's also a bit enabling. She might've reentered the District, made a few friends, if Haymitch hadn't encouraged her to stay in the shadows.

He probably likes it that way though. Madge staying cloistered, hiding away, keeps her with him, and Gale isn't sure what his intentions for it are.

"How many are there?" So far two. The one he and his dad use and her long path to the Seam.

"Enough," she answers, her lips twitching up.

"Any that head out to the slag heap?"

Her cheeks turn pink, darker maybe if not for the yellow light, and Gale smirks. She's pretty when she's embarrassed.

"He wouldn't tell me if there were," she answers.

"Maybe I can find one for you."

Madge tries not to smile, she knows he's only joking. Haymitch might do more than threaten and toss him on the ground if he ever caught wind that Gale had even mentioned taking Madge to the slag heap.

"I don't think so," she tells him, her mouth just barely keeping from flickering up into a smile.

"You sure?"

Her lips press together in thought, false contemplation, before she nods.

"You might like it up there," he tells her, his voice dropping a little.

She shakes her head.

He takes a step closer, just enough that he can smell her shampoo and the last traces of chocolate on her breath.

It's a bad idea. He's destined for a life of endless misery in the mines. She's going to be pampered, maybe a little detrimentally sheltered, for the rest of hers.

She isn't backing up though, and her eyes are glowing, wide with anticipation, and he feels like maybe he deserves at least one kiss. Maybe she does too.

Before he can think it through, talk himself out of it, Gale dips in and catches her lips.

The stew isn't there, just the chocolate and the strawberries she and her mother made linger and Gale wishes he'd eaten a few more himself.

She doesn't press back, and Gale thinks he may be overstepping, maybe he'd read her wrong, but when he starts to pull back she grabs the front of his shirt and keeps him in place.

That's all the encouragement he needs. Gale lets his hands slip around her waist, fingers digging into the soft material of her dress before he pulls her closer. It isn't close enough though, and he finds himself backing her up, pinning her between the wall just under the light and his body.

He moves from her mouth to her cheeks, her jaw and neck before making his way back to her mouth. He's painfully aware of her body, every curve, every patch of skin, every noise she makes, and especially her lips. They've been on his mind for years and he's glad to have finally confirmed for himself that they're every bit as soft and perfect as he imagined.

Madge makes a little squeaking noise as Gale dips again, starts nipping at her collar bone, then she gives him a gentle nudge. "Gale, stop."

There's a trace of worry in her voice and when he meets her eyes, expecting her to be preparing to let him down-they can't do this and they shouldn't have even tried-he finds them wide and worried.

"Ahem," a rough voice says from somewhere behind Gale.

Shit.

Turning slowly, Gale finds Haymitch standing at the foot of the steps, glaring up at him.

"Mr. Abernathy," Madge squeaks, jumping between the two."You're back early."

He nods, his lips twisting up."Yep. Wasn't much use in me staying, so they sent me packing."

Madge swallows, then makes a small gesture to Gale. "Gale walked mom and I home. He's just leaving."

"Is that some funny euphemism you kids are using for 'feeling you up' that I don't know about?" He asks humorlessly.

Madge, who always seems to have an answer for everything, just stands mutely, lips parted and eyes wide, unable to come up with a response.

After a few seconds of glowering, Haymitch sighs, runs his hand over his face and glances warily at Gale. "Go on. Get, boy."

His dismissal makes Gale feel a bit like a stray being run off for daring to get his filthy paws on Haymitch's property, and really, that's exactly what it is. He isn't good enough for her and both he and Haymitch know it.

Then again, Gale thinks irritably, neither is Haymitch. He's from the Seam too. Other than one of them getting dragged off to the Capitol, winning the Games, they're the same. Before he can point it out, argue that he has as much right to kiss her as Haymitch did to swoop in and take her from the community home, he feels something warm brush against his hand. Madge's fingers.

She gives him a small smile and Gale bites his tongue.

It's her choice to flutter around the District, not talk, let Haymitch shelter her, or let Gale kiss her, and he has to let make it on her own.

Even if he'd rather just shout at Haymitch to mind his own business.

Reluctantly, Gale stuffs his hands in his pockets and let's his feet fall heavy as he descends the few steps to the ground, cutting Haymitch an irritable look as he passes him. It does no good, but it makes him at least feel like he's done something more than get visually scolded.

As he reaches the woods, Gale glances back over his shoulder just in time to see Haymitch vanish into the door. Madge is still standing there, holding the screen open as she starts around it to follow after him. Before she does though, she must feel Gale's eyes on her, because she turns.

For half a second she smiles then raises her hand and mouths the words 'bye' before ducking her head and rushing around the door, letting it screech and clatter shut behind her.

Gale stares at the now empty porch for a few seconds longer, until someone turns off the light and plunges him into darkness.

With a sigh, Gale turns and starts walking back through Madge's not so secret path. Licking his lips, he tastes chocolate and strawberries and smiles.

He hopes she chooses to tell Haymiych she plans on more kissing with him, because one definitely hadn't been enough


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too. It's all hers.

Madge gently shuts the screen door behind her, then the heavy wooden one, clicking it shut with a quick turn of her wrist before turning to face Mr. Abernathy.

He stares at her, his eyes dull with exhaustion, then sighs, pressing his fingers to his eyes.

"Oh, Pearl," he mutters into his hand.

Taking a step, he reaches beside her and flips the light switch, sending the backyard, and Gale if he's still near, into darkness.

Setting her jaw, Madge crosses her arms in an attempt to look more confident than she feels. He's going to tell her she can't see Gale, even though she really isn't. One kiss isn't a date. No matter how good the kiss had been.

For a few moments she'd felt a glow of excitement in her chest, a reckless pinch of giddy eagerness.

Gale likes her, she likes Gale, why shouldn't they kiss?

And she likes everything about him at the moment.

His rough hands and how they caught on the material of her dress, his chapped lips and the scruff of his beard, the unruly way his hair falls in his eyes. She likes the deep, rough sound of his voice and even the way he makes his stupid 'w' in his last name.

It is, at least in part, hormones, she knows that, and part of it's rebelliousness. She's young after all, and while all the kids in her year are out at the slag heap, drinking and doing who knows what else, she's been at home, with her mother and Mr. Abernathy, reading and learning knitting. She hasn't toed the line at all, not once since she's lived in the Victors' Village. At least she'd been kissing Gale somewhere out in the open. Her mother could've kept an eye on her.

And really, what were they going to do on the porch?

"Oh, Pearl," he says again, shaking his head.

"Oh, Pearl, what?" She finally asks, her eyebrows arching up.

He shakes his head. "What were you doing out there? I warned you that boy is-"

"Trouble, I remember," she says, a little more sharply than she intends.

"That's right, trouble." He nods to emphasize his point. "Boys like him are only after one thing, sweetheart."

Madge covers her face with her hands. She doesn't want to have this conversation with him.

"Trust me, Gale isn't under any delusions about what he's going to get out of me." She knows full and well that the kids at school had given her the title 'ice princess'. No one with that nickname is going to be an easy mark, even for Gale Hawthorne.

"From where I was standing he might be," Mr. Abernathy mutters.

Madge gives him a withered look. "We were just kissing!"

"Since when do you kiss with your hands?" He snaps. "And trust me, I saw exactly where his filthy hands were going."

Before Madge can attempt to defend herself, which she thinks will be a hefty task considering her body still burns where Gale had touched her, her mother floats in, a faint expression on her face.

"You finally kissed Gale, love?"

Mr. Abernathy gives her a dark look. "Don't encourage her, 'Tilda."

Looking unfazed, her mother drifts over and smiles at Madge, pats her cheek. "You should ask him to shave a bit more. You're already pink from it."

Hand jumping to her face to cover the tell tale marks from Gale's kisses, Madge feels her cheeks burn.

"He doesn't need to shave 'cause he isn't going to kiss her again," Mr. Abernathy tells her.

Her mother's eyebrows pull together. "Was it bad?"

"No," Madge answers without thinking.

"Yes," Mr. Abernathy mutters at the same time.

"Oh, Haymitch," her mother coos, giving him a soft look. "He's such a nice boy. Let them be."

Crossing his arms, Mr. Abernathy grumbles something that sounds like 'delinquent', but bites back any further strictures against Gale.

Madge gives her mother a grateful smile. She isn't sure why, but Mr. Abernathy rarely argues with her mother. No matter how much he clearly would like to and the fact that they are under his roof

"Is he going to take you on a date?" Her mother asks, a distant, but happy, glow in her eyes.

Cutting Mr. Abernathy a look, Madge shakes her head. "No, we just-it was just a kiss goodnight."

She doesn't miss the huff of disbelief Mr. Abernathy gives that fib, nor does her mother. She frowns at Madge then turns to him, eyebrows pulled together. "Shush, Haymitch, or I'll send you out."

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he clamps his mouth shut and glares at the ground. Madge almost laughs at him, but manages to hold it back. She isn't aiming to upset him, and that would definitely do it.

Her mother refocused on Madge, takes her face between her hands and pulls her forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"He's very handsome," she says airily, earning another derisive snort from Mr. Abernathy. She cuts him a look and he pretends to cough so she ignores him and returns to Madge. "It'll be good for you to spend time around people your own age."

Behind her Mr. Abernathy rolls his eyes and mutters to himself.

"Mom," Madge begins, taking her mother's hands down and giving them a squeeze. "It was just a kiss. He may not want anything to do with me tomorrow."

Especially if Mr. Abernathy continues to act like he's rabid.

Her mother shakes her head. "Love, you're too beautiful for him not to."

Face burning, now not only from being seen kissing by Mr. Abernathy but also from her mother's enthusiastic support, Madge mumbles, "Sure."

With a final glance at Mr. Abernathy, Madge tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and brushes past him. She just wants to go to bed and have a few sweet dreams while the possibility of Gale giving her more kisses exists, before he realizes she's a waste of time and that dealing with Mr. Abernathy makes her more trouble than she's worth.

#######

Haymitch pulls a chair out from the table, drops into it with a groan.

When did his little Pearl grow up?

Coming home early, not by choice, but certainly not unhappily, should've been a good thing. He'd planned on waking them up and making ice cream, sitting up and telling them stories about the idiots he'd had to rub elbows with, or more accurately avoid passing out on, in the Capitol. He'd wanted to forget all the insanity Wiress had spouted at him, plans and plots that are so far-fetched they'll never come to fruition.

Instead he comes back to find Madge getting her tonsils checked by some filthy little bastard.

He's pretty sure he showed unknown and profound restraint by not storming up the steps and castrating the boy.

No, not boy. Gale Hawthorne has to be eighteen or nineteen years old. That's a man, a full grown, ought-to-know-better-than-to-grope-a-girl-on-her-back-porch, man.

And Madge is just a girl. She's barely seventeen. He shouldn't be messing around with her. He'll be down in the mines by the fall and then what? He won't even have time to wash his butt let alone see her. It's cruel and unfair.

Besides, Haymitch has heard what he gets up to. Reputations might get inflated, but there's always a hint of truth hidden in them.

For a moment he entertains the idea of contacting Wiress and Bird. If anyone can help him get a handsy delinquent off Madge it's them. It might even be worth the body count they may incur.

While he's contemplating just how he can contact them, something cool brushes against his cheek and brings his mind to the moment.

Matilda is standing in front of him, her hand still grazing against his face, a little smile on her lips.

He gives her a soured look. "Don't toy with me, sweetheart. I'm not in the mood."

Her fingers fall from his cheek and her smile widens.

"She's not a little girl anymore. You can't hide her away forever."

Well he can damn well try.

Cool fingers comb through his hair and he tries not to close his eyes and enjoy the sensation, but after days of pounding music and flashing lights, strong perfumes and sickly sweet foods, his head is killing him. Her fingers against his scalp are the only thing he's found that sooth his mind.

"She doesn't have any friends. My baby deserves some friends, doesn't she? She shouldn't be alone."

Haymitch's stomach lurches.

Matilda is speaking from experience. After Maysilee died and Valencia Burdock ran off with that miner, she'd been alone. Her only friends were gone and she'd spent years existing with just her father for company. If she can keep that lonely existence from befalling Madge, she will, and there's nothing Haymitch can do to stop her.

Against his better judgment, he nods, his eyes fluttering shut as she steps forward and wraps her arms around his neck, pressing his cheek into her stomach, and begins toying with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

"I'm not going to sit back and let her get hurt," he mumbles into her nightgown. Her fingers are making him lose his conviction though as they twirl his hair. This fight is all but won, he's just avoiding the end and what she's going to make him do.

"Let her be young, Haymitch. Getting hurt is part of growing up. And you don't know she will. If you tell her not to see the boy she won't, but it won't be because she doesn't want to. That's not fair."

Even though he knows she's right, Madge is young and she deserves to make her own choices, he doesn't want to admit it. She's his responsibility, he loves her too much to let her get her heart broken by some jerk boy, and he is all but certain that's what's going to happen.

Madge is smart though. He knows she can handle whatever that boy throws at her.

He just wishes she didn't have to. He wishes she didn't want to.

#######

Madge changes her clothes, puts on her favorite old nightgown and drops down at the vanity to comb her hair.

Gale's note is sitting there, his scratchy handwriting staring up at her, distracting her from her nighttime ritual. She picks it up and begins examining it again.

It's rough and jagged, a bit like he is, but steady. There's no hesitancy in any of the words. They're solid, just like Gale. The thought makes her stomach do a flop.

Biting her lip, she wonders if he really would take her to the slag heap. Not that she would want to go...

Glancing at the mirror at her pale skin and light hair, the opposite of him in every way, she doesn't think so. The slag heap is for girls with fortitude, girls that can handle the adversity of life.

Not girls like her.

Frowning at her reflection, she looks back at the paper.

Gale is going to get home and realize what a mistake he's made. Madge isn't strong, not like girls from the Seam. She's a fling, nothing more, and that stings. She'd barely made it during her time in incarceration and then at the community home. If Mr. Abernathy hadn't come and saved her she might be dead now.

No, she's definitely nothing more than a passing phase for him.

She's just barely finishes combing her hair, blinking back bitter tears at the thought of Gale's realization, when there's a soft knock on her door.

Setting her comb down, she goes to the door, opens it slowly.

Mr. Abernathy is standing there, his gray eyes downcast, seemingly studying his shoes. "Can I talk to you?"

Even though she's still upset with him, she's old enough to make her own decisions, and that includes deciding who she wants to kiss, he gives her his most pathetic look and she relents.

Opening the door the rest of the way, she waves him in wordlessly.

He comes in, looks around for a second or two, then takes a seat on her bed, patting the spot next to him.

She sits, but crosses her arms and fixes him in a glare.

Once she's sitting, he reaches in his pocket and pulls out a bottle, opens it and takes a long drink before offering it to her. She rolls her eyes.

"That's my girl," he chuckles before taking another, smaller, drink then closing it and stuffing it back in his pocket.

Finally, after he's licked the last of the liquor from his lips, he sighs.

"I'm sorry, Pearl."

Blinking, once, twice, Madge frowns. "You're sorry?"

He nods. "You're, uh, mom pointed out that you aren't a little girl."

Madge frowns. Of course he'd have to have it pointed out to him. He'd asked her if she wanted a doll for her birthday. She gets the feeling she'll always be a little girl in his eyes.

"You're smart," he adds with a small smile, his eyes glancing up to her. "Smarter than me, that's for damn sure. You know best how you want to live your life."

Reaching over, he takes her hand, squeezes it in his much darker, much rougher one.

"If you want to see," he says the word with such disdain it looks like he might vomit, "that boy then it's up to you."

Her mother had a hand in this, Madge is certain of it. Apologizing is one thing, telling her to do what makes her happy is something separate. She's a hopeless romantic, even if she never got the fairy tale she wanted herself. For all her faults, she wants Madge to be happy, no matter who with.

"You aren't going to give Gale a hard time?" She asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I didn't say that," he answers quickly, his lips twitching up. "I think that's kind of my duty to harass whatever dirty minded nutsack you drag up."

Madge snorts. "He isn't a dirty minded…" She shakes her head. She isn't about to repeat him, no matter how much satisfaction it may give him.

His graying eyebrows arch up and he smirks at her. "He is dirty minded, sweetheart. He's a boy. I was his age once."

Madge takes his hand and presses it between hers. When he'd been Gale's age he'd been a Victor already. There'd been no flirting with Town girls or getting told off by their families. He'd been alone, making solitary trips to the Capitol and back again with nothing but the cold bodies of Tributes to keep him company.

The fact that he's just come back from the Capitol, just lost two more Tributes, quickly and bloodily, hits Madge. He'd been expecting to come home and relax, not find her tangled so tightly with Gale, a boy he's made no secret about not liking, that she hadn't even been able to breathe. All things considered, he'd taken it well.

Leaning over, Madge presses a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."

He glances over at her then back at their hands, giving hers a squeeze.

"Can you just-just not check each other's teeth in front of me?" He finally says, looking pained at the memory of Madge and Gale on the back porch.

A little laugh bubbles out of Madge chest and she pats his hand. Then a wave of self-pity rolls over her.

"I doubt you'll have to worry about that." Especially when Gale realizes she's weak and useless. Neither she nor her mother can cook, that was the whole reason they'd agreed to dinner. Food and cooking are life in the Seam, what good would it do him to date a girl that can only make candy, which is as impractical a food as there is?

Time spent with her is wasted, and Gale will realize that sooner rather than later.

Mr. Abernathy narrows his eyes. "Why? He talk about taking you to that slag heap? That is no place for a lady, Pearl, understand? I don't care how good looking you think he is, don't-"

"That isn't what I mean," she cuts him off. She doesn't want to know how he knows about the slag heap. Catching his confused expression, Madge sighs. "I can't cook, I can't sew, I can barely start the fire...as soon as Gale sees what a waste I am he's going to find someone better."

Someone who can survive.

Mr. Abernathy wraps his arm around her shoulder and presses a kiss into her hair.

"He'd be a fool to," he says softly.

Madge shakes her head. "He wouldn't-"

He cuts her off, "You're a pearl. Trust me, there is no one better than you."

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, inhales the scent of expensive liquor and cologne from his clothes. He's wrong, but it's nice of him to say it anyway.

#######

When Gale gets home he's grinning, ear to ear.

Asher thinks that will be wiped off his face when he tells him Rory has already fallen asleep and won't be helping carry the extra chairs back to the Everdeens'.

"You know how hard he is to wake up."

Instead of scowling, glaring at the door to the house and muttering about his useless brother, Gale shrugs.

"It's okay, I can get them."

That's when Asher knows something has happened.

He catches Gale by the shoulder and gestures for him to hand over one of the chair while giving Gale a once over. "What is it?"

It has to be something really good. His hair is a mess, and he hasn't even tried to fix it, and one of the buttons on his shirt is in the wrong hole. Normally that was a sure sign he'd been to the slag heap, but Asher is fairly certain he hasn't had time to swing by there since dropping Madge and her mother off.

Asher's eyes widen. "Gale…"

"I kissed her," he finally says, his grin widening as he looks up at the star peppered sky.

Taking in Gale's appearance, Asher frowns. "Did she put up a fight?"

Grin shrinking, Gale scowls. "No. Why would I-why would you think that?"

Gesturing to the wronged button and the wrinkles on the front of Gale's shirt, Asher frowns.

Gale's eyes fall to his shirt and his color darkens, visible even in the dark of the street. "Oh, she, uh, guess she popped a button when she grabbed my shirt. I just thought it came undone when I was fixing it."

Asher's eyebrows rise.

"It was just kissing," Gale assures him as he fixes his shirt once more, examines the loose threads his mother will have to fix when she finds a new button. "She was just holding onto my shirt. I swear."

Asher nods.

"I swear."

With a small smile, Asher hoists the chair and starts walking, waving his hand for Gale to follow.

"She's had a hard life, Gale," he starts. He needs to make sure Gale understands that this can't be one of his week-long flings. Madge Undersee is clearly stronger than he'd thought, he'd seen that during dinner and after, when she'd comforted her mother, but she's still in what he deems an unpredictable situation. Haymitch Abernathy and her mother are still unreliable in his mind, but they're all she has thanks to Asher and his grand plans. He doesn't want his son to be added to the list of people making her life more difficult than it needs to be.

"I know, dad," Gale says. "I'm not going to hurt her."

Asher doubts that. Getting hurt is part of growing up, he just doesn't want wounds that won't heal put upon the girl or Gale.

Not for the first time, he wonders if he's encouraged Gale's crush for selfish reason. It isn't fair for him to pin his failures on his son, and Asher increasingly feels like that may just be what he's doing.

Gale is a good man, but he's only eighteen. While Asher wishes he could say that's young enough to make all the mistakes he wants, even with girls, it isn't. Not in the world they live in. Lives are short and hard, they have to cram all the living into as few a years as they're given and hope it's enough. He'd been instrumental in stealing the Mayors years, cutting his daughter's time with him short.

He hopes he hasn't unconsciously thrust his desire for redemption, to protect the child of a man that had given his life to keep a reckless bunch of men safe, onto his son and stolen his years too.

"And I won't let her end up like Aunt Olive," Gale adds, quietly, almost a whisper.

Asher's stomach clenches up. Olive, his big sister. Years before Gale had been a glimmer in Hazelle's eyes, before Asher had even realized girls existed; Olive had taken on the mantle of breadwinner for the family after their dad's death.

At the time, Asher hadn't known what lengths his sister had gone to keep the family from starving, but after she'd become pregnant, given the choice between getting rid of the child or being shipped off he realized just what her sacrifice had been.

"You never do anything you aren't willing to take responsibility for," he'd told Gale, and then Rory, and would tell Vick someday. They needed to be careful.

He didn't want his boys to be responsible for someone else's Olive being taken off and never coming home.

"Good," is all Asher manages to say.

His son is a good man. Better than him maybe.

"Besides, if anyone is going to get hurt, it's going to be me," Gale carries on, not sensing Asher's shifted mood, or maybe because he senses it. "Haymitch came home when we were on the porch and I think he may be plotting my murder as we speak."

Eyebrows pulling together and mouth turning down, Asher looks at Gale. "Haymitch? Shouldn't he be in the Capitol still?"

Gale shrugs. "Said they didn't need him, and really, can you blame them?" He makes a face. "If I could snap my fingers and make him disappear I would."

Asher booms with laughter.

"Just be good to her," he tells Gale as the Everdeen house comes into view.

Gale nods. "I will."

#######

Jude whittles away the wood, shaving off shards until the design on the whistle begins to form.

It's for Prim, he'd wanted to get it finished before her first Reaping, a good luck charm, but that hope has been dashed already. His days in the mines have taken their toll, he just doesn't have the energy some days, and his daughter had paid the price.

"It's okay, dad," she'd told him, wrapping him in a hug and squeezing him tightly.

He might finish it before the end of summer, that's his new goal.

Just as he's starting on an intricate design along the side, a small primrose, he hears laughter coming from the distance.

Getting up, he squints into the darkness until a pair of figures finally come into the edges of his lamplight, both carrying chairs.

"Hey, Jude," Asher says with a grin. "Brought the chairs back."

"Made good use of them?"

Gale had mentioned that Madge and Matilda Undersee were coming to dinner, and Jude is curious how it had gone.

Asher has been trying for years to get the kid to come, mostly out of guilt over what had happened with her father. A feeling Jude can commiserate with. Jude had tried to have Katniss ask her over, just to gauge for himself how she seemed, make sure she wasn't being mistreated by Haymitch Abernathy, but that had fallen flat.

"I'm not going to keep asking her," Katniss had told him, shooting him an agitated look when he'd asked if she'd invited her over again. "She said she had to get home."

His daughter didn't notice anything wrong, and she didn't feel the need to pry, so he'd dropped the subject after a while. Katniss wasn't one to press an issue. Asher probably had the better chance anyway.

Gale is a good looking kid, doesn't seem to have many problems getting girls to agree to whatever he has to say, so Jude had assumed soft-spoken, quiet little Madge Undersee would quickly say yes the second he asked her to dinner.

But she hadn't.

Year after year, she'd said no, much to Gale's confusion.

"What is it with her?" He'd asked Jude while they'd practiced with the bow. "She doesn't even think about it."

Asher found it funny that his son was getting a taste of rejection.

"It's good for him," he'd said one day on the ride down into the mines. "He needs to do a little chasing, deflate that head of his."

From the rumors Jude had heard about Gale, his trips to the infamous slag heap and the number of girls he'd allegedly dated, or at least been connected with, Asher might've been right.

Still, he felt for the boy.

"Doesn't matter," Gale had muttered, nocking his arrow and brushing the thought away. "She doesn't need to be out in the Seam anyways."

That had struck a chord with Jude, sounding just a little too familiar.

"She's too good for the Seam," he'd told his own dad, back when he'd first noticed the apothecary's daughter.

It wasn't until after the Quarter Quell, when her friend, Madge's aunt, had been Reaped, that he'd realized how fine a line separated the Town and the Seam. The Quarter Quell had opened his eyes to how short life could be, and just how little the odds were in anyone's favor.

"I thought that about Val," he'd told Gale. "She's holding up pretty well."

Which was mostly the truth. He isn't sure how his wife would handle life if he weren't there. When the alarms had signaled and the men had been lost, all those years ago, just after the Mayor's death, she'd been an absolute mess when he'd finally gotten home. He doesn't like to think what she'd have done if he had been in that mine.

Gale hadn't responded, just nodded and fired off the arrow, killing his first goose that day.

Asher smiles as he plops the chair onto the porch. "I'd say so."

He gives Gale a grin then ruffles his hair.

"Dad!" Gale tries to sound mad, but his grin makes that almost impossible. He smashes his hair back down and sets his chair on the porch.

The door behind Jude opens and Katniss steps out, glaring at the group . "Are you trying to wake the entire row?"

Gale shoots Asher a sharp look, clearly annoyed at being scolded, before rolling them at Katniss.

"What's got you in such a good mood?" Katniss asks, eyebrows high on her head as she surveys Gale, takes in the missing buttons on his shirt and the wrinkles Jude had only just noticed himself. "Did you get in a fight?"

Snorting, Gale scowls. "Why would that put me in a good mood?"

Katniss shrugs. "I don't know."

"Why do you look like the cat ate the canary?" Jude finally asks. Sometimes it doesn't hurt to be direct with kids, especially teenage boys.

Exchanging a look with Asher, who raises his eyebrows as if to say 'it's up to you', Gale looks back at Jude and gives him a small, but no less excited, smile. "I, uh, kissed Madge."

Katniss frowns. "Madge Undersee?"

"Yeah," Gale says with a flick of his eyes upward. "How many 'Madges' do you know?"

"I didn't know you liked her," she answers him before looking to Jude. "Did you?"

Honestly, it was kind of hard to miss, but if anyone could do it, it was his Katniss. She's an excellent hunter, but when it comes to catching subtle, or in Gale's case not so subtle, hints about what people like and don't, she's a bit clueless.

That's his fault, he knows that. She's been so focused on survival, helping him keep her and her mother and sister alive, learning to care for them if something were to happen to him, that she's missed out on some more basic skills of interaction. He's failed her, and he wishes he could change that.

He gives her a nod and a pat on the back, assuring her with a wink that she's not made some huge mistake by not catching onto Gale's crush. She gives him a small grin in return before looking back at Gale and Asher.

"So are you dating then?"

Gale frowns. "Well, I got run off before we could talk."

By the way the color deepens further on Gale's face, Jude gets the impression that he hadn't had actually planned much talking, even if he hadn't been run off.

"Haymitch Abernathy is back," Asher says, a hint of some indefinable unease in his voice.

Normally the Victor doesn't come back until after the Games end. His coming home early isn't necessarily ominous, but it is odd.

Odd enough that Asher will probably want to discuss it at length for the next week. The thought grates on Jude slightly.

He's had enough planning, enough trying to outwit the Capitol. He has no desire to decipher the movements of District Twelve's Victor or what it might mean in the grand scheme of things. He just wants to make amends, make sure the girl lives as happy a life as she can, and keep his own girls safe and fed.

"I have to keep trying," he'd said when Jude had asked him why he felt the need to continue trying to find an out, find a way to take the Capitol down as they chipped away coal in the dim mines. "Your girls won't end up down here, Jude. My boys will."

Maybe Jude would feel different if he had sons, but he doesn't, and he just wants to survive.

Instead of giving a confirmation, letting him know he'll think about it, try to imagine why Haymitch is back sooner than he should be, Jude just smiles warily.

"That's something isn't it."

Taking one of the chairs, he looks at Katniss. "Grab the other one, Katniss. We need to get to bed." He gives Asher and Gale a little nod goodbye. "See you in the morning, Asher."

Asher's mouth is down turned, just slightly, and Jude mentally prepares himself for the barrage he'll receive tomorrow in the mines.

Aren't you curious? This might be important. We need to always be paying attention.

But Jude isn't interested in a revolution, even if Asher still is.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too. It's all hers.

Madge wakes to the smell of bacon and pancakes.

Combing her hair, pulling it back and securing it with a ribbon, a new one Mr. Abernathy had brought her from the Capitol, she then quietly pads across her room, out the door, down the hall and to the stairs.

When she gets downstairs, she makes her way to the kitchen; hovering in the doorway and watching Mr. Abernathy flip a pancake expertly.

He turns when he feels her eyes on him, flashes a smile and jerks his head to the table. "Already got you a plate, kid."

Bare feet slapping softly, Madge crosses behind him and takes the seat at the table.

After a few minutes he brings the last plate over, stacked high with golden pancakes, and sets it in the middle of the table before pulling the chair across from Madge out and dropping into in with a groan.

"Gettin' old," he mutters to himself as he starts pilling pancakes onto his own plate, drizzling syrup over them, an expensive treat from his trips to the Hob. As he cuts into the stack with his fork, he glances up and jabs at Madge's plate. "Not hungry?"

She gives him a shrug.

When she'd first moved to the Victors' Village, before he'd been able to get her mother out of the hospital, he'd made her pancakes for her first breakfast.

At first she'd been hesitant to eat. Mrs. Oberst made pancakes and Madge had never much cared for them. They were dry and she never let Madge use as much syrup as she wanted. Never so much as a square of butter.

"Well mine are special," he'd explained, cutting them for her even though she could do it herself. "My mother's recipe."

Only because she hadn't wanted to offend him, she'd tried them, using as little syrup as possible.

"Drown 'em," he'd grunted before soaking the flat little cakes and the dollop of butter under his black market syrup.

After that she'd loved them. Somehow, even being made from tesserae grain, they still taste delicious. Now, she uses more butter and syrup than necessary, just because she can. It's one of a long line of indulgences he lets her have.

It's his treat for her. His apology for having to go off to the Capitol. After last night she hadn't expected him to make them for her, maybe as a way of showing her all things come at a price.

She should've known though. He's never been one to like hard lessons, especially not if he's the one handing them out.

Her mother drifts in, still in her nightgown, and settles into the seat between them. Mr. Abernathy pushes the last plate to her, pancakes already buttered and cut. She smiles at them before picking up the little glass jar and spreading syrup over them.

They eat in silence for a few minutes before Mr. Abernathy clears his throat.

"Guess I'll go by the Hob, get some more drinks." He then glares at the last of the bag of strawberries Gale and his father had brought by, almost empty since Madge and her mother had dipped most of them and taken them to dinner the night before. He probably thinks they hadn't brought enough and is probably considering searching out more, not that he'll find any. Madge remembers overhearing Katniss say that strawberries were scarce this season.

"Madge can go with you," her mother says, her eyes fixed on something outside the kitchen window. "She can see if they have a new piece for her to play. It'll be a nice change of pace for her."

Frowning and forcing down the anxiety bubbling up in her stomach, Marge starts to tell her no, she can't go with him. Just the thought of venturing to the Hob, with or without Mr. Abernathy's protection, is terrifying, but then she feels her mother's hand reach under the table, squeezing her hand. Glancing over, her mother gives her a little smile. She's up to something, Madge just isn't sure what.

"I don't think so, 'Tilda," Mr. Abernathy says, his mouth still full of food. "The Hob isn't a place for a lady."

She frowns at him. Not that she wants to go, but something about his dismissal of it, flat out saying she doesn't belong there, annoys her.

As he's bending his head down to shovel in another mouthful, he catches Madge's disappointed expression and stares at her for a minute.

A little syrup leaks out the side of Mr. Abernathy's mouth, dribbles down his chin, as he's too busy focusing on her to notice. Madge watches as her mother licks her thumb, reaches over and wipes it away.

Startled, he sits up and shoots her a curious look. She simply smiles back.

"Please, Haymitch?"

#######

The Hob stinks.

There are too many people in it. Unwashed bodies and clothes, strange foods and the scent of dirt mingle in the air unpleasantly. Madge wrinkles her nose and glances at Mr. Abernathy.

He's unbothered by it. Of course, he comes on a regular basis, he's built a tolerance for it.

"Stay close," he warns her. It's wholly unnecessary. Her fingers have fused with the sleeve of his shirt.

They pass by a stand selling something furry and another with worn and patched clothes, all the way to the back to where a one armed woman sits, drinking from a filthy looking metal cup.

"Back already, Haymitch?" She asks, grinning at him. She's missing more than a few teeth and the ones she has are threatening to make an exit.

"I was more trouble than I'm worth," Mr. Abernathy tells her as he points to a pile of dusty liquor bottles. "My usual."

He hands her a heavy looking bag, one Madge has seen countless times over the years, and as she takes it her dull gray eyes settle on Madge.

"Brought your little princess with you for once, huh?"

Though her expression remains neutral, a talent she's honed over the years, Madge rankles at being called a princess. If they'd seen her in the community home, in the holding cell, filthy and broken, they wouldn't think she's any kind of mock royalty.

The woman squints at her. "She is a pretty one. No wonder you wanted her."

Madge isn't quite sure what she means by that, and a quick glance at Mr. Abernathy lets her know he doesn't either. He just quirks his mouth to the side and arches his eyebrows, trying to work out if he's been insulted or not.

When the bag is full and the payment made, they make their way over toward the source of a sickly smell, something close to burnt hair.

"Greasy Sae's," he tells her, tilting his head toward the stall along the wall, a wooden, makeshift bar with modge-podged stools. "Want something?"

Madge doesn't dignify that with a response, just raises her eyebrows and turns her back on the offensive smelling stall.

He leads her to a smaller booth, one with boxes all lines up along the small patch of floor.

"Here's where I usually pick up your sheets," he tells her, giving one of the boxes a gentle kick with his foot, causing dust to balloon into the air. "Go crazy, sweetheart."

For nearly an hour she picks through the boxes, coughing as she looks at the sheet music and picks new pieces to try. By the time she's through she's decided on four, but gets seven. The man looks like he could use the money and Mr. Abernathy has plenty.

"Glad you're so generous with my savings," he tells her, trying and failing to look annoyed with her.

"You could've made me put some back." She gives him a small smile.

He just chuckles and steers her away from the boxes.

The exit is in view, Madge can see a small patch of blue sky outside, when she hears her name.

At first she thinks she's hearing things. No one calls for her except her mother and Mr. Abernathy; it makes no sense for anyone else to. Still, she stops and turns, squints into the crowd milling through the building.

She spots Gale easily over the top of everyone else, he's a good head taller than most, as he makes his way from the smelly old lady's cook house.

He stops just short of stepping on her. "Madge?"

He's in his hunting clothes, brown pants and a dark colored shirt, though she supposed they may be his every day clothes. It's possible he hasn't got many choices, likely even.

Her expression must dim at the thought, because his mouth turns down. "Something wrong?"

Forcing a smile, she really is happy to see him, she shakes her head. "No, just...surprised."

"Yeah, never would've expected to see you here." He reaches up and begins rubbing his neck, glancing around. "Why are you here?"

"She came with me," Mr. Abernathy grumbles, causing Madge to jump. She forgot he was there.

To his credit, Gale doesn't flinch at the rough tone, just nods and glances back at Madge. They stare at each other silently for a minute until Mr. Abernathy clears his throat and gives Gale a bored look. "Did you need something, Gale, or are you just wasting our time?"

Madge gives him a sharp look which he only shrugs at.

It finally occurs to Madge that this is why her mother had said she should go to the Hob. Gale only has a short time before he's sent into the mines, there's only a few places he's going to be spending his last few free days, and the Hob is on that list.

She'd been betting on his being there, and she hadn't been wrong.

"I, uh, I was just surprised to see her here," Gale tells him.

"She shouldn't be," Mr. Abernathy grumbles. "Her mother thought it would be fun."

His tone lets Madge know he's realized just what her mother had planned, and he doesn't look thrilled with her foresight. Something tells Madge he isn't going to be such a pushover about taking her mother's prodding from now on.

Gale nods, not really understanding the irritation in Mr. Abernathy's voice, before he turns his attention back to Madge.

"Since you're out, do you want to get lunch?" He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, toward the foul smelling place against the wall.

Madge tries not to make a face. She'd rather not, but she doesn't want to offend him, and she really would like to spend a little more time with him. Her mother's hard work shouldn't be for nothing after all.

Giving Mr. Abernathy a half glance, she makes her decision despite his glaring at Gale.

"I-Yeah, that sounds good."

Gale lights up, his smile dancing in his eyes, and she feels her face warm at the thought that she's the reason behind that glow.

Beside her, Mr. Abernathy grunts, but doesn't say anything, just turns his glare on her.

Giving Gale a small smile, she waves her hand toward Mr. Abernathy. "Give me a minute."

Shuffling off, Gale keeps an eye on them as Madge reaches out, takes Mr. Abernathy's hand and gives it a squeeze.

"Thought you weren't hungry?" He asks, shifting his bag of booze on his shoulder so that it blocks Gale's view.

"It isn't about the food," she mutters, her eyes careful to avoid his. "You know that."

"Yeah," he grumbles. "I do."

Popping up on her toes, she presses a kiss to his scruffy cheek. "I'll be okay."

He turns his head and narrows his eyes on Gale. "You'd better be."

Throwing an arm over her shoulder, he walks her across the stream of people and to Gale. He settles him in a narrow look before turning back to Madge and taking her by the shoulders.

"Be home before dark-"

"I'll make sure of it," Gale tells him.

Mr. Abernathy ignores him.

"-and no slag heap-"

"I'm not going to take her to the slag heap." Gale looks particularly offended at this.

"-and he touches you, kick him in the nuts, understand?"

Madge sighs. "Go find yourself some strawberries."

With one last huff and a glare at Gale, Mr. Abernathy finally leaves.

Turning her back on him, Madge gives Gale a weak smile. "So, what were your plans for the day?"

It's a stupid thing to say, and she almost cringes when the words leave her mouth, but Gale just gives her an easy smile. "Spending time with a pretty girl it seems."

#######

Haymitch taps his eye with his free hand then points to Gale while Madge turns her back. His message is loud and clear, just as his advice to Madge had been moments before.

I'm watching you, you little asshole.

He really doesn't understand how Madge puts up with him. He treats her like she's five.

"So, what were your plans for the day?" Madge finally asks, her cheeks tingeing pink.

She's nervous, he can tell. Her arms are crossed rigidly over her chest and he's pretty sure every muscle in her body is tense, every nerve on end. She's a deer that's heard a twig snap and is ready to run. A social butterfly, Madge Undersee, is not.

Trying to put her at ease, his brain spits out one of the cheesiest things he's ever said, to anyone.

"Spending time with a pretty girl it seems."

Her lips twitch at the edges and Gale tries not to roll his eyes at his own crappy line.

"Should you go tell her you're spending the day with me instead or are you just going to leave her hanging?"

It takes him a few seconds to catch what she's said and he scowls at her when he does.

"Ha ha," he grumbles, uncertain if she's serious or fishing for compliments. Either way, he feels the need to counter it. "You do realize you're gorgeous?"

Her blush intensifies and Gale realizes she'd probably been a bit serious. He'll need to rectify that. Finding things to compliment her on shouldn't be too hard, he's catalogued every beautiful detail of her for years.

He probably won't tell her that though, at least not in so many words. It sounds a bit like a stalker.

Glancing around, he begins to feel people starting to stare.

It isn't shocking, Madge stands out. The Hob is almost exclusively Seam. There's an oddball here or there, who like Katniss' sister, Prim, have Town looks, but even so Madge is an anomaly. None of the regulars are here, and Madge's pale hair and light skin, coupled with the pretty dress she's wearing, maybe mostly because of the dress, stands out.

Before anyone can say anything, maybe not to her (even if most people think Haymitch is a drunken mess they respect him-and his money-enough not to upset her) but close enough for her to hear, Gale gestures toward Greasy Sae's. "Come on."

With a hand on her back, fingers gently settled between her shoulder blades, he steers her through the crowd and to the stall. They take one of the makeshift tables with overturned crates for chairs and he glances around him to make sure no one annoying is near.

Thom is helping his great aunt and Katniss, while not annoying really, is clueless and would be a hindrance on what may be his only chance to impress Madge, is spending the day with her sister.

He sighs. "So, want some stew? Sae's got some deer meat in it." Among other things, all purchased from him and Katniss.

She doesn't make a face, just blinks a few times before shaking her head. "No thanks, I-Mr. Abernathy made me a big breakfast."

Gale pushes down disappointment. He'd hoped she'd at least try some, see it wasn't as bad as she probably thinks. Maybe it is though. She's too used to nice meats, anything he can offer probably would taste like gravel.

As if reading his thoughts, she starts babbling. "I mean I would. I-Mr. Abernathy's cooked squirrel for me a few times, he bought it from Katniss and her dad, and I liked it well enough and-but-he makes me breakfast, a big breakfast, whenever he comes back from the Capitol, and I ate too much and it was really sweet, the pancakes, not here-I mean," she stumbles over her tongue, "It was-is, it is sweet of you to ask me to eat with you and-"

"Madge," Gale cuts her off. She looks like she's about to cry. "It's okay."

"No." She shakes her head. "I look like a snob now. And a crazy one at that."

Gale shakes his head. "But a pretty one too."

Her cheeks glow as she stares down at her fingers, all twisted together in her lap. "Still..."

Reaching across the table, he grabs her hands before she can wring her fingers off. "Madge, this is all," he bites his lip, "an acquired taste. Try it or don't, it's your choice."

Though he hopes she gives it a chance eventually. He'll ease her into it, maybe start her with some jerky.

She gives him one of her rare, albeit, weak smiles. "This was a lot easier when it was just kissing."

He grins at her, she isn't wrong. "I'm not opposed to more of that."

Though not at the slag heap. He's too fond of all his internal organs to risk angering Haymitch by taking her there. Granted, it isn't exactly the place a girl like Madge should be taken. He knows that.

Her eyes drop back to her hands, his larger one covering them, and her smile brightens a little. "Me either."

His stomach rumbles and he feels his face heat up. His body is constantly finding ways to ruin his moments.

"First, lunch." He hadn't had a big breakfast after all.

#######

Gale had originally planned on going to the woods.

There wouldn't be any more sleeping in and sneaking off in the afternoon for him come the fall, when he officially started in the mines, so he figured it was as good a plan as any.

Running into Madge had definitely put those plans on hold. Not that he minded.

After he ate his lunch, which had more deer meat in it than he'd originally thought, they headed out.

They pass along the outskirts of the Seam, narrowly avoiding Rory and Vick who are out playing a game of kickball with some of their friends. It's nothing short of a miracle, if they'd seen he'd never have a moment's peace.

Rory would want more details than he's deserving of and Vick would get confused, or worse yet, be interested, and Gale just isn't ready for his youngest brother to start being interested in girls. Unfortunately he's already asked Gale some rather embarrassing questions, which he'd deflected to his dad, so the carefree days of Vick being completely oblivious to women may be passed.

As the sun gets hotter, they end up passing through the meadow, disappearing into the cool shade of the trees around it. Away from nosy kids and their even nosier parents.

They walk until they run into the fence, the hum is gone, it isn't on.

"Don't you worry about getting caught?" She asks as she eyes the woods beyond the wire warily. "They could execute you."

"Dead one way or another," he tells her with a shrug. "One's just slower than the other."

And he'd prefer not to starve. That's the slowest way he can imagine.

She seems to think that over for a minute, rolling it around in her mind, then nods, slowly, barely enough to notice. "I guess."

Madge probably knows a thing or two about death, he thinks. Even living in the Seam he hasn't had as intimate a relationship with it as she has.

The rumor mill had said that she was in the house when the Mayor died and that her mother was on the verge of an overdose before they'd gotten to her. She'd been such a tiny thing too, maybe Vick's size, and Gale doesn't want to picture her watching her dad died or her mother slipping away, even if she hadn't. That isn't something a person, especially a little kid, gets over easily.

Considering her careful demeanor and quiet, guarded nature, maybe she hasn't.

He's never heard her talk about her time in custody, first with the Peacekeepers and then at the community home, but he thinks they're closer than he'd want to be to the edge of oblivion.

Her eyes are still focused on the woods, following birds as they dart in and out of the thick foliage, and he can almost see the worry still flickering in them.

To get her mind off all the unlikely possibilities, or perhaps all too likely, he comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, burying his face in her neck. It's a simple pleasure, one he's waited ages to indulge in.

"Gale!" She squeaks, making a feeble attempt to wiggle free before she twists in his arms and grabs his face, giving him a scrutinizing look.

"What?" He asks, his grin widening. "I thought you said you missed the kissing part?"

Her entire face flushes pink and she drops her gaze, unable to meet his eyes. "Well-I-"

Before she can finish her thought, Gale dips in again, catches her lips and crushes her to his chest.

Her cool little fingers find their way to his hair, tangle in it and make him all but certain that it'll be a disaster before he's home. He doesn't care though, it's worth it to have her with him, away from distractions and crazy Haymitch Abernathy.

Somehow they end up on the ground, he honestly isn't sure how it happens, and one of his hands has wrinkled the bottom of her dress up in some half-formed plan to free her legs from it. He swears his hands have minds of their own sometimes. They're going to get him killed.

Madge has a little more restraint, or maybe it's her uncertainty shining through, but her hands have stayed at his hair, only drifting down to his shoulder every now and again, nails scraping against his skin and shirt.

Air finally becomes a necessity, and Gale pulls back, resting his forehead against hers.

Her eyes are bright, wide as they study him up close.

She runs her fingertips along his jaw, tracing the stubble up to his cheeks before running her fingers through his hair again.

While she's occupied with his hair, lulling him into a stupor with her hands, he studies her face.

She looks younger up close. There's a smattering of pale freckles over her nose, spilling onto her cheeks, just barely visible. He's probably the only person to notice them, only person ever close enough to notice them. The thought makes his stomach flip.

Leaning in, he presses a kiss to her cheek, just under her eye, on the constellation of freckles.

"Your hair is soft," she murmurs, gently tugging at it.

Your whole body is soft.

Carefully, he presses a line of kisses down her neck, wondering if the fading blush extends past the neckline of her dress.

"Gale," he hears her say, her hands sliding down from his hair and cupping his face, making him look at her. "Gale, shouldn't we talk?"

Talking, at least in Gale's opinion, is a bit overrated. Why talk when there are so many more pleasant things to do with your mouth?

Still, he likes her, he likes her a lot. If she wants to talk, he'll talk.

Propping himself up on his elbows, he tries to school his features into a serious expression. "What do you want to talk about?"

Her eyebrows knit together and her slightly swollen lips turn down. "I don't know. What do people usually talk about?"

Gale shrugs. He's never been in a talking relationship. Honestly, they've never held much appeal to him.

Madge bites her lip in thought. "Well...do you like ice cream?"

He isn't sure what kind of question that is, but he shrugs. "I guess. Only had it once."

"Maybe you can come over and have some." Her mouth tugs to the side. "If you promise to bring us more strawberries."

The temptation is too much and he dips in and presses a kiss to her lips. "Sure thing."

She gives him a small push back. "Now you ask a question."

Making an agitated noise, Gale wracks his brain for a question. It's a hard task to accomplish with Madge pinned under him. Before he can fully think it through, his mouth spits out the first thing that comes to mind. "How many dresses do you have?"

The color seems to vanish from her skin and Gale starts to backtrack.

"Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it," he tells her quickly. His mind had just been focused on the texture of her dress that he'd been rumpling in his hand only minutes before, soft and smooth, unlike anything he's ever owned. "It's just a stupid question."

The stupidest question.

Thinking he's ruined the mood, cursing himself for his mouth being faster than his brain, Gale starts to get up. There's no way she'll want to carry on with the thought that he thinks she really is a snob hanging over their heads.

To his surprise she catches him by the collar, her fingers holding him firmly in place.

She holds his startled gaze for a second, and he hopes she sees that he doesn't think of her as just a girl in expensive clothes. There's more to her than that, and he's a complete jerk who speaks before he thinks. Surely she can relate to speaking without full control of what's coming out her mouth.

After a few moments of contemplation she speaks.

"Not as many as Mr. Abernathy would like me to," she finally says, lifting her head enough that she's able to graze her lips over the corner of his mouth. Her eyes stay wide, focused on him as she lets her head drop back, come to a rest against the soft grass. "My turn."

They go on like that for hours, exchanging questions for kisses, until Gale realizes how dangerously close they are to sundown.

He pulls her from the ground, helps her dust the dirt and leave, tiny twigs and bits of grass from her dress and hair before they start the trek back to the Victors' Village.

"Any secret trails we can use?" He asks her, only half joking. It would be useful knowledge to have, for future reference.

She gives him a sly look, waits half a heartbeat, then grabs his hand. "Follow me."

#######

Haymitch lets the screen door screech shut behind him. "Matilda!"

She doesn't answer, so he storms into the living room, grumbling to himself the whole time.

She tricked him, that's the only explanation for it. He should've known she had another reason for wanting Madge to go to the Hob. Somehow she'd known the little bastard was going to be there and she'd batted her eyes and given him that stupid smile so that he wouldn't question it too much.

He really needs to be more firm with them; they're starting to walk all over him.

"Matilda!" He yells up the stairs. Her door is shut so he bangs up the stairs and opens it without knocking. "Matilda?"

The shades are closed, the room is cool and dark, just how she likes it when she gets a headache.

Squinting, he spots her on the bed, blanket pulled up over her head, burrowed deep into her mattress.

Quietly, he pads across the room, stopping to stare at the lump that is Matilda for a minute before he nudges her over and flops beside her on the bed. Gently, he reaches over and pulls the comforter from her head. "How's the head, sweetheart?"

Her back is to him and she has her fingers pressed to her temples as she sighs. "Better."

"Need something?" He asks, brushing a wild strand of pale hair from the back of her hand.

She tilts her head back, glancing at him for half a second before she rolls over, her hazy blue eyes settling on him as she shakes her head. Her lips press together, then unpress a few times before she puts her fingers to her temples again and closes her eyes. "I turned the television on, by accident, when I was cleaning. They were discussing how the Games will end."

Haymitch sighs and strokes her hair, twirling a strand between his fingers. So that's what started it.

There's nothing to say, just sit with her or drug her up until the pain passes.

He's heard people talking, saying it's all in her head, and that may be true. It doesn't mean it isn't real though.

If anyone knows how bad the things in a person's head can mess them up, it's Haymitch.

After a few minutes, her wide blue eyes open and she frowns. "Are you mad at me?"

He shakes his head. Maybe he had been, but he can't stay that way, not with her anyway.

"You were yelling," she mumbles, turning her face to the pillow. "You sounded mad."

Chuckling, he brushes some hair from her face. "Well, you tricked me, you minx."

Peeking up, she gives him a weak smile. "Whoops."

Haymitch settles down a little lower and works his hand under her, wraps his arm around her and tugs her a little closer.

"Whoops my ass," he mutters as he nuzzles his nose into her hair. "I forgot how devious you are."

One of her hands settles flat on his stomach, fingers flexing and relaxing against the fabric of his shirt. "He was there?"

"Mmmhmm," he grunts, letting the quiet and cool of the room settle his nerves.

"Are they on a date?"

The edge of hopefulness in her voice annoys him. What's so great about a date? Just hanging around in public with a bunch of idiots and not doing what people who date really want to do.

If he ever wanted that he'd just ask to stay in the Capitol.

His stomach lurches as he imagines Madge not on a date.

The Hob suddenly seems like a lovely place considering the other options.

"Yeah," he grumbles. "They're on a date."

He can almost see the smile pressed into his side. "Good."

#######

When he wakes up it's to the sound of the screen screeching open. Madge is home.

Quickly, he rolls Matilda off his arm and tries to shake the pins and needles from it as he quietly makes his way across the room. He shuts the door softly and takes the steps as fast as he can.

He can see Madge just through the doorway, on her tip toes, digging through the icebox.

A sigh of relief almost escapes his lips, then the boy comes up behind her and lets one of his filthy hands come to a rest on her waist as the other reaches over her head and moves something in the fridge.

They're standing a little too close for his liking, the boy is pressed a little to tightly against Madge's back, so he clears his throat and starts across the living room for the kitchen.

He's pleased to see Hawthorne jump back, a flare of terror in his eyes at Haymitch's appearance.

Crossing his arms, Haymitch focuses on Madge. "What're you looking for, Pearl?"

She's completely pink, and for some reason that comforts him. Madge has been too sheltered to build up that natural immunity to parental needling. Her embarrassment, if she were ever to do anything really, truly horrible, would be painted all over her face.

"Ice cream," she says, glancing at the open fridge.

"I ate it all," he tells her. It had made him sick, probably not the best idea to mix it with his white liquor the night before, but he'd do it again if it meant Hawthorne never got a taste.

"Oh." Madge frowns at the floor before looking at the boy. "Maybe next time."

Next time? Hadn't one date been enough? One date was testing Haymitch's generosity, which was pretty thinly spread in the first place.

It isn't until Madge looks at him, her blue eyes wide and worried, that he feels a lurch of regret.

She'd had nightmares for a while after he'd brought her back from the community home and he'd spent more nights than he cares to remember sitting up with her, looking into those same bright eyes.

"What's going to happen next time?" She'd sobbed on his shoulder, soaking his shirt through. "What happens when they take you away?"

"They aren't going to take me away," he'd reassured her as he'd brushed the tears from her little cheeks. "I'm a Victor. I'm too mean to kill, remember?"

It wasn't true, not in the slightest, but it had soothed her. As a Victor he was just as vulnerable, maybe more so, than most.

He'd been safe though, made sure Matilda and Madge were safe and sheltered by an irritable Wiress who'd agreed to help him save both of them.

"Only because Birdy needs some practice," she'd complained. "This will be a good learning experience for her. Altering documents and such."

"And if anything happens, you make sure it's me they come after."

Wiress' expression had softened, if only for a flash, at that before settling back into her cool mask.

"I make no guarantees, Haymitch."

"Well, make it a guarantee," he snapped. "I've messed up too much, gotten too many people killed. You promise me you'll make sure they're safe, Wiress."

She'd promised after that. He'd never seen her so sincere.

"I suppose I owe it to Mayor Undersee. He exposed some flaws in the system with his death," she'd told him, rubbing her eyes wearily. "He also diverted attention to the local governments and off of us. I doubt we'd have managed to go undetected during the 70th if he hadn't, and there's no telling where that would've landed us during the 71st."

Dead or worse, Haymitch thinks, and Wiress seems fully aware of that.

He didn't care though, if it was repayment to a dead man or penance to him that made her help, made her promise to keep his girls safe no matter what happened to him. He only cared that she did.

With the most recent Games, he and several other Victors getting ousted from the Capitol before the final two were even a certainty, old worries were brought to the surface.

"They don't want us loitering, hanging around one another," Wiress had told him. "They've even scrambled the codes. I'm having to recalibrate all my communication devices just to talk to Birdy in Two."

Wiress and Beetee, all their little trouble making friends, with all their wild schemes, their manipulating the people of the Capitol to hand pick the most recent winners, are working on borrowed time. Snow is catching on to what they're doing, and it's only a matter of time before he puts an end to their experiments in social control.

Just where that's going to land him, he isn't sure. He isn't part of their game, not really, but he isn't not part of it.

If something happens to him, and he worries it will, sooner than later probably, Madge and Matilda will be thrown to the streets. He doesn't want to think what they'd be forced to do without him to protect them.

Gale Hawthorne, as annoying and dirty as Haymitch sees him to be, is strong, and if he's anything like his father is said to be, loyal and brave to a fault. He's capable, gathers and hunts enough that he has some to sell, so that's a plus. Even with his shit reputation, Haymitch thinks he'd take care of both Madge and Matilda if he had to.

He hopes he's reading him right.

It might be worth feeling out this tentative relationship if it'll keep them safe should the worst happen. Maybe that's what Matilda's been thinking about. He doubts it, she's a romantic, not a pragmatist.

Haymitch is though, and he isn't above using the handsy little bastard for his own purposes.

"Maybe after dinner," Haymitch offers, unable to keep from grinding his teeth. This is the ultimate sacrifice, getting to know the boy that's so clearly trying to get in his Madge's skirt. "How about tomorrow? Around seven?"

The boy's thick eyebrows scrunch together, probably trying to figure out just why Haymitch has the sudden urge to break bread with him. That's what Haymitch would be wondering.

Madge is giving him a confused little once over too, he'll have to come up with a good reason for her. She's sharp, unfortunately so at times.

Finally, the boy nods. "Sounds good." He holds out his hand. "See you tomorrow then."

Haymitch takes his hand, and for a second they battle over who is going to crack the other's fingers before Madge gives him a hard look.

The boy nods and Madge walks him out, probably for more kissing, Haymitch thinks irritably as he picks up a jar of green beans Matilda had apparently forgotten about on the counter.

When she comes back she narrows her eyes and frowns. "What are you planning?"

"You always think the worst of me, don't you Pearl?" He clasps a hand over his heart. "I'm wounded."

"Right," she huffs. "Please don't be planning anything horrible. Gale's-he's great and he's nice and a good-"

"If you say 'kisser' I will throw up right here," Haymitch tells her, jabbing his finger at the kitchen floor. "I mean it."

"He's a good hunter," she finishes, pressing her fingers to her temples.

"And that's why I want to get to know him," he says. It's the truth, or at least a version of it. "See if he's good enough to take care of my Pearl someday."

Her expression softens and her arms, which had been crossed over her chest, drop. "I'm not a baby, I don't need taken care of."

Haymitch sets the jar down and crosses over to the door, reaches up and takes her face between his hands.

"Everyone needs a little taken care of every now and then."

Even him. He'd be lying if he said he didn't get anything from Madge and Matilda's presence in his house. They made it a home, made it worth living in. Without them it was just a place to drink and pass out. They took care of him, even if they didn't know it.

He pulls her into a hug, lets his cheek rest against her hair as he squeezes her to his chest. "I only want the best for you, kiddo."

And he'll do whatever he has to for her to be safe, even have dinner with that filthy boy.

She nods against him.

"I know."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too. It's all hers.

Mr. Abernathy is cooking a steak for the dinner with Gale and Madge isn't sure if he's doing it to be nice or if it's an intimidation tactic.

When she brings it up to her mother, she simply shrugs and gives her an airy smile. "He's a complicated man."

Complicated isn't the word Madge would use, more like conniving. This dinner has an ulterior motive; she just hasn't worked out what it is yet.

"I can't want to do something just to make you happy?" He'd asked, feigning being wounded.

She just stared at him in disbelief. He might, but not this way. Mr. Abernathy would rather eat nails than have dinner with Gale, but whatever reason he has behind his sudden change of heart, he's keeping it to himself.

Instead of staying around and trying to decipher what he's playing at, Madge heads to town, down a back path that comes out near her old home.

The new mayor took out her mother's plants, all her shrubs and rose bushes, buried their garden under a blanket of grass and knocked down the old shed since he moved in. He keeps the house up though. Where her father would let the paint get shabby and start to peel before hiring boys from the Seam to paint, just to put off buying more paint which he saw as an expensive luxury he couldn't justify when people were starving to death, the new mayor has the house painted twice a year, whether it needs it or not, by boys from town.

Mr. Abernathy has told her he's heard the mayor say he'll never use boys from the Seam, even thought the extra pay would benefit them the most.

"Filthy, all of them," he'd told Mr. Abernathy, clearly unaware that the man he was talking to was from the Seam. "Probably steal the silverware."

Mr. Abernathy had come home with a new silverware set the next year, after the newest Victor's Victory Tour, with no explanation. Not that he needed one.

There's a new housekeeper too. Mrs. Oberst had died a few years ago. Her health had taken a downturn after Madge's father's death and disgrace, and Madge suspected it was a result of the two things actually. The old woman had never believed her beloved employer would do such a thing and had died still clinging to that belief. Madge's mother had cried for days after the funeral, which she hadn't even made it through, but Madge had simply felt bad. She'd never exactly gotten along well with her family's horrible old housekeeper, but she certainly didn't want her dead.

Mr. Abernathy on the other hand...

"Good riddance," he'd muttered. "She was a hag."

It's probably the only time in Madge's recent memory that her mother had been too upset with him to speak with him. It had taken a week to finally thaw her to him.

Sometimes Madge wonders what has happened to her room. Probably set up as a guestroom or a sewing room for his wife. The new mayor has no children, he and his wife are older, dull and drab, rarely host Capitol guests as her father had been forced to do, but that doesn't mean much. He's a sycophant, nestled safely in the Capitol's back pocket; they probably don't feel the need to check up on him like they had her father.

With a sigh, she averts her eyes and walks past, down the crumbling road, patched here and there, to the center of town.

Staying to the edge, away from the chattering crowds and keeping her eyes off the screen showing the final two Tributes still clinging to life in the Arena, Madge makes her way to the bakery.

There are a few cakes, half a dozen cupcakes and some bear claws, freshly baked, displayed in the window and Madge inspects them through the glass for a minute before deciding to go in.

The bell above the door tinkles softly and someone calls from the back. "I'm coming!"

Madge is poking a rounded loaf when someone appears through the doorway behind the glass case.

"Madge!"

Peeta has flour in his hair, pink and yellow icing smeared across his apronm a patch on his cheek, and a bright smile lighting his face.

Madge gives him a small smile, wishing she could do better. He's always been kind to her and she hates that even something as simple as a smile is such a trial for her most days.

Peeta had been one of the few people that hadn't shied away from her when she'd come back from the dead. He'd offered to be her partner in their shared classes, asked her how she was feeling, and even snuck her cookies occasionally.

"You don't wish I was dead?" She'd asked him, inspecting the cookie as if he may have poisoned it.

His eyebrows had pulled together in concern. "Why would I wish that?"

While Katniss was her silent partner, her harsh reality, someone who didn't ask her questions and didn't seem interested in prying answers or idle chit chat from her, Peeta was a piece of normalcy. When he was around she could almost pretend none of the awfulness had ever happened, that her father was still alive, and that she was the same Madge she'd always been.

Even if it was only an illusion, it was a pleasant one, one she was grateful for.

"I need to pick up some cheese rolls," she tells him, squinting through the glass and not seeing any.

He jerks his head toward the doorway he'd just come through and grins. "Just in time then. I've got some cooling in the back."

Madge shifts her bag and opens it, finds the coin purse Mr. Abernathy had given her and pulls it out, anticipating how much the rolls will cost.

"I need two more than usual," she calls to him through the doorway.

Peeta reappears, giving her a scrutinizing look. "Two more?" His lips twitch up. "So you really are seeing Gale Hawthorne aren't you?"

She sighs. Apparently the rumor mill of District Twelve had swiftly spread the news, and while it's nice to not be gossiped about over something horrible for once, she still wishes her private life weren't so many bored people's entertainment. She isn't sure how extra rolls translate to dating, but she nods for Peeta anyway. He's her friend so she doesn't mind him prodding. Not much anyways.

His smile widens. "That's great, Madge! When?"

Quietly, she tells him about dinner at the Hawthornes' and the kiss on the porch, their date, though she leaves out most of the details of that, and finally Mr. Abernathy's sudden, strange desire to get to know Gale.

"If I were Gale I'd watch my back," he says with a sigh. "And I'd steer clear of any drinks Haymitch offered me."

Madge rolls her eyes.

Peeta vanishes into the back again, coming back a minute later with a familiar brown bag. It's warm in her hands, heavy, smells buttery and delicious. Much more appetizing than the stew at the Hob.

She cringes at her own thought. It's the kind of thinking she needs to curb if she wants any chance with Gale.

"Congratulations, Madge," he says again. "You deserve some happiness, and Gale's a good guy. Smelly, but good."

Madge's eyebrows arch up. "Smelly?"

"Compared to me," Peeta explains. "Not all guys can smell like a buttered roll or a fresh baked cinnamon cake."

That gets a snort of laughter from her. "Very true. I take it back. All men are smelly compared to you."

"Glad we're in agreement," he chuckles.

"Peeta!" A harsh female voice yells from the back, the family living area. "Come here!"

With a sheepish grin, Peeta gestures in the direction of the screech. "Duty calls."

As Madge reaches the door, she hears her name again. Turning, she finds Peeta, once again smiling at her.

"Don't let daddy dearest kill your boyfriend," he tells her.

Madge rolls her eyes. "I won't."

#######

Asher can hear Gale talking to Hazelle from where he sits at the kitchen table. Granted, the house isn't that big, overhearing conversations isn't hard and they weren't being secretive, just discussing how long Gale needs his dress pants to be.

"I'll just let the hem out," she says after she measures them against his leg.

The bottom is frayed a little even though he's only worn them for Reapings. They're also a little short, which is why he needs them lengthened. It's never bothered him wearing them to the Reapings like that, but he's eager to make a good impression on Haymitch, even if he thinks he's an interfering busy-body.

"He's just trying to make me look bad," he'd told Asher when he'd come home from his unscheduled date. "I know he is."

"That shouldn't be hard," Rory had muttered under his breath, hiding behind his book when both Asher and Gale had shot him irritated looks.

Gale gives Hazelle a kiss on the cheek before heading to the tiny bathroom to shave, at his mother's insistence.

"Haymitch looks ten times worse than me," he'd argued.

"But Haymitch isn't trying to impress anyone," she'd countered.

"Clearly," Gale muttered.

Vick looks over at Asher from where he and Rory are working on a puzzle and screws his face up in thought. "Dad, if Gale marries Madge would he get to move to the Victors' Village?"

Rory makes a snorting noise. "No, Vick. Only Victors get to live there."

"But Madge lives there now."

"Only 'cause Haymitch lets her," Rory points out. "If she married Gale, and that's a big if considering she's her and Gale is, you know, Gale, her quality of life will take a definite hit."

Asher opens his mouth to defend Gale, he's going to make a fine husband someday, and besides, it's a little early to be talking marriage, but Vick has already given Rory's points some thought.

"I dunno, Haymitch likes Madge an awful lot. I don't think he'd let Gale make her live in the Seam," he tells Rory.

"Well Gale isn't going to live Haymitch." Rory makes a face. "Gale snores and can you imagine having him playing hide the sausage with Madge with Haymitch listening in the next room?"

Just as Asher is about to chastise him for using that kind of language, which he'd probably picked up from Gale and his friends, a little voice distracts him.

"Daddy, what's 'hide the sausage'?" Posy asks, her lips puckered in thought. "If Gale has a sausage why is he giving it to Madge? Can't her daddy give her one?"

Asher gives Rory a dark look, letting him know he's going to receive a long talk later, not only for his language but also because Posy had heard and now Asher is going to have to make something up for her. Rory at least has the good graces to sink in his chair, dipping so low only his wide eyes are visible.

"The sausage Gale is giving her isn't one you'd want," Vick tells Posy before Asher can stop him. "Trust me."

"I like sausage though," Posy starts to pout.

Asher picks Posy up and sets her on his lap. "Don't worry, baby, I'll get you a-one. Someday."

He can't bring himself to say sausage at the moment, maybe ever again now.

"Haymitch would probably buy her a house," Vick carries on, apparently oblivious to Asher's discomfort. At least he isn't talking about sausage anymore.

Deciding it isn't safe to sit with the boys anymore, Asher gets up and carries Posy to Hazelle. "Help your mom," he tells her, giving her a nudge.

He goes into the boys' room, kicking the busted ball Rory had retrieved from a trashcan in town under his bed before collapsing onto Vick's bed.

Gale comes in, freshly shaved and rubbing water off his face with a ragged looking towel.

He looks so young, too young to be only weeks from being sent into the mines. Shaving makes him seem more like the boy he is, and deserves to be.

Asher remembers the day Gale was born, during a windstorm that had nearly knocked over several houses in the Seam. The midwife hadn't even been able to get to the house before Hazelle had him out. He'd been so tiny, so perfect and unburdened, and Asher had decided right then and there, promised himself that he would do anything to keep his son, his little baby boy, from ever spending even a minute in the mines.

It's a promise he's failed to keep. Gale, and eventually Rory and Vick, will all end up in that Capitol run tomb right alongside him. His little boys are all doomed to his fate.

Brushing that dark thought away, he raises his eyebrows. "We need to talk about what you and your friends say in front of Rory."

Gale freezes, probably running through all the horrible things he, and probably the Lacewood boy, his most frequent accomplice, had said in Rory's presence.

"'Hide the sausage', Gale?" Asher finally says, completely exasperated.

Wincing, Gale averts his eyes. "Yeah, sorry."

#######

Gale gets to the Victors' Village, is on Madge's back porch, at exactly seven.

His hair is combed, battled into a respectable state, and his shave from the evening before had to be refreshed, much to his annoyance, but his pants look better, no longer grazing his ankles, and his dad had let him borrow his best shirt.

"Don't get anything on it," he'd told Gale, half serious.

"I don't always get food on my clothes," Gale had grumbled.

"Chew with your mouth closed," his mother had warned him as she'd smoothed out his shirt for the hundredth time.

He just nodded at that. Why he had to mind his manners when he could guarantee Haymitch wouldn't, he didn't know.

"Maybe that's your appeal," Rory had said as Gale had complained about having to shave, and how Haymitch didn't have to. "You remind her of him."

"That's gross." Vick made a gagging noise. Gale agreed.

He should've never started discussing his problems with idiot brothers, or at least one of them.

Knocking on the door, he waits until Madge comes to the door.

Her hair is down, which he likes. It looks soft and he has to fight down the temptation to reach out and run his hands through it. She'd gotten to mess his up the day before; he should get to return the favor.

"Are you gonna stand there all night or come in and eat?" He hears Haymitch yell from inside the kitchen.

Madge grimaces and turns, gesturing for Gale to come in.

The smell of cooked meat, spices and heat, hit Gale the moment he steps in the door. Haymitch has his back to him, one hand braced against the counter and the other poking what looks to be a thick steak.

A wave of dread floods over him. If Haymitch is trying to make him feel inadequate he's off to a good start.

Madge's mother comes up behind him, almost silently, and sighs. "You look so handsome, dear."

He almost jumps. She'd be an excellent hunter, or at maybe a spy. He can see where Madge gets her ability to vanish so easily from.

"Uh, thank you," he mutters, uncertain exactly how to respond.

Something cool brushes against the side of his hand, and he glances over to find Madge, her hand out, fingers gently wrapping around his wrist.

"Come on. Help me in the dining room."

The fact that they have a whole room apparently exclusively for dinner makes Gale's stomach turn. His family's kitchen table is almost in the living room.

When he spots the table, long and polished, almost unused looking, he deflates even more.

This relationship is doomed. He'd never take Madge out of this house, stuff her in a cramped, coal dust covered and drafty house in the Seam. It wouldn't be fair. She deserves better than he'll ever be able to offer.

He shakes his head and forces the thought away.

She's seventeen and they've only been on one date, and barely a real one at that. Any plans they'll make are a few years out, if they make it that long.

Looking at her digging out unchipped, delicate looking plate, he isn't sure they will.

A few bad trips to the handful of places he can take her, ruining a few dresses, and Madge will see what a mistake she's making. Gale needs to enjoy his time with her while he can.

When she sets the stack of plates on the table, along with the silverware, which looks to be real silver, Gale comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to her neck and watching the blush blossom across her cheeks. Borrowed time is all he has with her and he needs to make the most of it, kiss her and hold her while he can. He'll need the memories to keep him warm and give him light when he goes into the mines.

#######

Dinner is agonizingly long.

Gale spends most of it avoiding looking directly at Haymitch, who seems to be cataloging every fault Gale has.

Or at least that's how it feels.

"You'll go to the mines in the fall?" He asks, his expression unreadable.

Gale nods. Where else is there to go?

"Ever thought about the geological corps? Doing the surveying, not being stuck down in a hole for the rest of your life?"

Madge looks horrified. "Mr. Abernathy!"

"Haymitch..." Madge's mother gives him a disapproving frown.

"What?" He looks completely confused by their dislike of his questioning. "I'm making conversation."

Irritation flares in the pit of Gale's stomach. He may not be good enough for Madge, but neither is Haymitch really. They come from the same miserable place after all.

"Thought about it," Gale lies. "Never got to the paperwork."

It's all bullshit. While Gale is good at math, above average maybe, his grades never have reflected it, not in any subject. Why work on homework and studying for tests when you know where you're heading?

He's never even considered applying for one of the higher level jobs. There are always too many applying, pointlessly and hopelessly, for him to ever consider it. It's a wasted effort as he sees it.

"Hmm," is all Haymitch says to that.

Madge and her mother steer the conversation after that. Talk about Gale's strawberries and ask him about Posy, offer her some of Madge's old dressed.

"They're just going to waste," Madge points out.

While Gale would rather eat coal than accept charity, the dresses were paid for by Haymitch, who was paid by the Capitol, which makes its money on the backs of men like Gale's dad. So in a roundabout way, the dresses are his family's to begin with. That's what he tells himself anyway, as he nods and swallows down some green beans. It's almost worth the bile rising in his throat at the thought of how Haymitch might hold his letting Madge give her dresses away over Gale's head, just to see the smile light up her face at the thought of helping Posy not be dressed like a boy.

When dinner finally ends Madge's mother corrals Haymitch into helping clear the table and do the dishes while pushing Madge and Gale out the back door with heaping bowls of ice cream and the last few strawberries.

They sit on the swing, gently swaying back and forth in the thick air of the summer night, insects buzzing and clicking all around them as they settle into a comfortable silence.

Finally, Madge sets her bowl on the ground and sighs.

"I'm sorry about Mr. Abernathy," she says, as though she has any sort of control over him. "He's just..."

She waves her hand vaguely out, letting it drop to her lap after a few seconds and giving him another apologetic smile.

"He loves you," Gale says before he really thinks about it.

It's true and he knows it, she knows it too. Haymitch has taken care of her since her dad died, four long years, and he's known her even longer. He's fonder of her than he is of anyone else except her mother and Ripper the liquor seller.

"He's just looking out for you."

Gale would be doing the same thing if he were in Haymitch's shoes. For all he knows, Gale sees Madge as a meal ticket, an easy future using Haymitch's money.

The thought makes the steak he'd eaten at dinner start to bubble in the back of his throat.

"That doesn't mean he can interrogate people," she mutters. "He isn't going to run my life."

Somehow Gale thinks he might. He's got enough money that he'll be able to pay off undesirables chasing after his pretty charge and keep her from their greedy hands.

Gale isn't one of those men though and the thought of being lumped with them turns his ice cream into coal dust in his mouth.

He's about to say something, though his brain hasn't exactly formulated what, maybe that he sees where Haymitch is coming from even if he hates that he can, when the screen door screeched open.

"Pearl, can you help your mother find those dresses?" Haymitch asks.

Madge's nose wrinkles up, but she stands and heads inside. Haymitch stays on the porch though and she stops inside the door and gives him a scrutinizing look.

"Are you coming too?"

Haymitch shakes his head. "I'm gonna hang out with Prince Charming here for a minute. Have a little get-to-know-you time, just us guys."

Lips pressing into a line of worry, Madge shoots Gale a look through the screen, silently asking if he's okay.

He just shrugs. Eventually he's going to have to talk to the bastard. Now is as good a time as any.

With one last worried glance, Madge lets the door drop closed, leaving Gale and Haymitch alone.

For a few seconds they stare at each other, both sizing the other up.

Finally, Haymitch clumps across the porch, his shoes thudding on the wood, until he's beside Gale, dropping into the swing.

Once he settles in he reaches in his back pocket and pulls out a flask, opens it, then takes a long drink of it. He takes it from his lips and smacks them loudly before turning to Gale and holding it out. "Drink?"

Gale isn't sure if this is a trick, some weird test of character. Not drinking it would make him look desperate to prove something that's not true, like maybe he doesn't drink. Which is a lie, because of course he drinks, everyone from the Seam drinks don't they? It's a miserable place, dinking is an escape.

It would make him look like false, and that isn't something he can afford with Haymitch. Especially after lying about applying for the better paying jobs.

Biting back disgust at sharing a bottle with Haymitch Abernathy of all people, Gale reaches out and takes the flask.

He holds it in his hand for a minute, considers it, then takes a long drink.

It stings all the way down his throat, burns as it settles in his stomach, and he grimaces as he hands it back to Haymitch.

"I think I'll stick to beer," he tells him, his voice raspy.

"Suit yourself," Haymitch grumbles.

A few more minutes of thick silence follows, wrapping them up and swallowing them before the swing creaks and Haymitch sighs.

"I can see about getting you a talk with the foreman of the geologists. Went to school together. Kind of a dick, but fair enough. He can slip your paperwork in, maybe he can give you a nudge up as a favor."

Gale frowns as he looks over at Haymitch. "What?"

Haymitch glares at Gale out the corner of his eye. "I'm offering to help you get a better job, numb nuts. You may have been screwing with me earlier, but I'm not now."

Narrowing his eyes, Gale sets him in a scowl. "Why would you do that? You hate me."

"Very true. Madge doesn't though." Haymitch runs a hand over his face and takes another drink. "She doesn't let people get close, but she's letting you. That tells me two things, you aren't as shitty a person as I've heard, and she really likes you."

Madge not letting people close seems true enough; it explains her lack of greedy suitors and her title of 'ice princess' among most of her peers. Gale feels warmth, separate from the alcohol, spread through his chest.

Madge chose him, even if she's making a huge mistake, she chose him to open up for and that's got to count for something.

Still, Gale doesn't want special treatment just because he's dating Madge.

"I'll talk to the foreman myself," Gale tells him. "I don't need help."

And he doesn't need or want to be in Haymitch's debt.

"Don't be an idiot" Haymitch snaps. "Do you think part of getting one of the better jobs isn't mostly who you know? If I hadn't been Reaped I had an advantage because of my granddad worked with them. I didn't get to use that privilege, I'm just passing it along to you."

That doesn't make Gale feel much better. He's always resented the people from town's easy life compared to his own, getting a leg up on his own people for a job so many dream of makes him queasy.

"Everyone has a different advantage, I'm just offering you yours. Don't be too proud to save your own life, your family's, Madge's."

Gale glares at him.

"Keep this in mind though," he leans over, his breath harsh with liquor, "you take my help and you'll be tethered to Madge for the rest of your life. She's part of the deal, and 'Tilda too."

This, Gale thinks, this is the test.

Does he care enough about Madge to make this deal, to trade his future, freedom, for her?

"I don't need an incentive to take care of her," Gale tells him through gritted teeth. They may have only just gotten together, but he's been looking out for her for years. He's loved her for what feels like a lifetime and he'll love her for a lifetime more, whether Haymitch helps him or not. She isn't a burden to be passed off.

"Good to know." Haymitch nods. "But it isn't incentive. She's my baby, she's my girl, and I want her taken care of. I don't want something to happen and wonder what's going to happen…to either one of them."

He holds Gale in a narrow look, willing him to understand something he can't quite say.

"So," Haymitch finally sighs, flopping back in the swing, "I want her to have a good life, be well taken care of, and as I see it you may be my best chance at that. The best way to do that is to get you a good job, a safe job, one where she won't spend everyday worrying that you aren't coming home. Understand?"

Gale does. Haymitch isn't immortal, especially not drinking like he does. Madge and her mother's protection won't extend past his death, whenever that may be. He's finally seen that he can't spend the rest of his life fighting people away from Madge. He's going to need them if Madge and her mother want to have a chance when the inevitable happens.

He isn't putting Gale in his debt, he's putting himself in Gale's debt. He's offering Gale the most precious things in his life. Madge and her mother.

It's a lot of faith to put in a person you claim to hate, Gale thinks, but clearly Haymitch trusts Madge's judgment. He's trusting her to have chosen who to open up to wisely. He's trusting Gale to be a good man.

Something starts to ache in his chest at that thought.

Inside Gale hears Madge talking to her mother, muffled airy laughter and a soft chuckle, as they cut through the kitchen.

Gale thinks of his own home, small and dark and drafty, of the small bits of rabbit for dinner, maybe some deer occasionally, going to bed on an empty stomach on more nights than not.

If he wants to be worthy of Madge, ever even wants the hope of it, he has to swallow his pride.

He has to take Haymitch's help.

The backdoor screeches open and Madge and her mother appear, both with their arms full of soft, plain little dresses.

"You don't have to take all of them," Madge whispers.

Eyeing the dresses, Gale runs his hand over the expensive material, glancing at the one Madge is wearing. Even with both his and his father's pay, they'd never be able to afford even one.

His mind immediately jumps to Katniss' mother, faded and too thin, pale skin stretched over jagged bones. That will be Madge if he doesn't let Haymitch talk to his 'friend'.

Glancing over his shoulder, he catches Haymitch's stern glare, nods shortly. "I'll take you up on that offer."

When he turns back, Madge is frowning. "What offer?"

Haymitch gives her a grin. "Nothing for you to worry about, sweetheart."

Judging by the way Madge's eyebrows scrunch together and her lips pucker, she probably thinks there's plenty of reason to worry.

"Haymitch and I were just discussing my application for the geological core," he tells her honestly. "He thinks he can get me an extension."

Mostly honestly anyway.

Madge's nose scrunches up as she looks between Gale and Haymitch, searching for the lie she knows is there. Finally, unable to figure out just what they're hiding, she sighs.

"Well that's good," she says, shifting the bundle in her arms.

#######

They're hiding something, and even if Madge can't pin it down just now, she'll figure it out eventually.

Gale gathers up the dresses from both her and her mother and thanks them for dinner and the dresses before heading toward the tree line and the hidden path back to the Seam.

Madge walks with him to the edge of the yard, just outside the yellow light of her back porch, her arms crossed behind her.

"Are you going to tell me what you were really talking about?" She asks.

He turns to her, his eyes reflecting the sheen of the moon as he smiles.

"Getting me a job where I'm not stuck in a hole for the rest of my life," he echoes Mr. Abernathy's earlier words.

Nose wrinkling up again, Madge squints at him. "Really?" A smile twitches her lips up. "He must have a lot of faith in you."

More than she'd thought. Or he's up to something.

"He has faith in you," Gale says. "He's trusting your judgment that I'm not a complete jackass."

That actually makes more sense than that Haymitch has suddenly started liking Gale and is doing things out of the goodness of his heart.

There's more to it, Madge is certain, but she's too happy that they've called a truce, for the time being anyways, to worry too much on it. She'll decipher them later.

"Good," she finally says, popping up on her toes and pressing a kiss to his increasingly rough cheek.

He turns his head as she's dropping back onto her heels, catching her lips and freezing her in place.

It may only be a few seconds long, but it seems to stretch into minutes.

Too early, he pulls back, his breath ghosting over her cheek in hot, quick puffs, and even though Madge's eyes have fluttered closed, she can feel his smile.

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

Eyes peaking open lazily, Madge nods. "I'll come over after lunch."

After he's had time to vanish into the woods and support his family, get one of his last dwindling days of freedom.

His grin widens and he leans in again, gives her another quick kiss before turning and vanishing into the trees.

#######

Matilda settles onto the swing beside Haymitch, her eyes following Madge and Gale out to the edge of the yard.

"You're really going to help him?"

Haymitch nods, takes another swig from his flask and sighs as she settles back into her seat, leans over and rests her head against his shoulder.

"Thank you," she whispers.

Madge walks back into the yellow light of the porch, up the steps, then stops in front of them, her eyes focusing on him. "What are you planning?"

Grinning, Haymitch raises his eyebrows. "Nothing."

She clearly doesn't believe him, so he sighs, glances over at Matilda whose eyes have drifted shut and her breathing has evened out. Too much activity, cooking and preparing for the day have worn her out.

Looking back at Madge, he sighs. "Just making nice with the boy. That's what you wanted, right?"

Her eyes narrow as she nods.

He shrugs. "Well, then helping him get a better life is the nicest thing I can do."

If it has the added benefit of helping his girls then so be it.

Nose scrunching up again, she takes a few tentative steps forward before narrowing her eyes. "Really?"

Haymitch nods.

A little grin creeps onto her face and Haymitch's chest tightens at the sight. She'd hate that he's making deals, bargaining for her future, but he has to. She's strong, and Matilda is too, but even the strong need help. Besides, he thinks he's earned the right to provide that help.

If the boy is willing to accept help, even begrudgingly, then Madge will to.

She leans in kisses his cheek. "Thank you."

He doesn't deserve that kiss, not when he's toying with her future, but he'll take it. She can hate him when he's dead and she's still comfortable and safe.

"No thanks needed, sweetheart," he mutters. He glances over at Matilda, quietly sleeping on his shoulder. He jerks his head toward her. "Let's get your mom to bed."

Madge nods and heads in while Haymitch gathers Matilda up, gently shuffling her in his arms as she snuggles into his shoulder.

He'll go to the foreman in the morning, make sure Gale gets an interview for the geological corps.

He has to protect his girls, no matter what it costs.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too. It's all hers.

"They really are beautiful," Hazelle tells Gale as she goes through the stack of dresses he's brought home after his dinner.

"Madge sent them," he explains.

Hazelle looks close to tears as she picks up the first one, investigating the delicate trim along the hem. They'd never be able to afford anything this nice, not with a hundred pay checks.

"I'll have to make her something," she murmurs, more to herself than to either Gale or Asher.

"She's not paying for strawberries again." Possibly ever, Asher thinks.

Gale's expression, which has been strangely guarded, settles into worry as he shakes his head. "She won't like that."

Before Asher can tell him that he'll drop the strawberries off on the porch without her ever seeing him, he's snuck under the noses of Peacekeepers for decades, he can avoid one girl, Gale holds up his hand. "Can we just-I need to talk to you two about something."

Something about his tone, the wary look in his eyes and the tension in his shoulders, let's Asher know whatever he's about to say isn't something he's excited about. It's not about Madge then.

Hazelle cuts Asher a look, her eyebrows drawn together as she silently asks him if he has any idea what they're about to hear. He just shrugs and drops down on the broken down couch, the stack of dresses between them.

Gale stares at them for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then he settles on the rickety coffee table.

Whatever Asher could've imagined, it wouldn't have come close to what Gale tells him.

Haymitch Abernathy is offering him a way out of the mines, practically promising to gift wrap it. It's something Asher had hoped to do with the failed strike.

"It's awfully soon to be offering you help in exchange for protecting Madge, isn't it?" Hazelle asks.

Asher sighs. "He doesn't really have a lot of time, Hazelle."

The geological corps likes to pick new members from among the freshest recruits. Young men just out of school. They've taken older men, but not in years, not since before Gale was even a glimmer in Hazelle's eyes. Haymitch would know that.

There's no time to waste. If Gale wants even a chance to escape the mines he has to act now.

"He's young, Ash," Hazelle says, her forehead wrinkling up as her eyebrows rise. "He's been on one date. That's not enough to make this kind of commitment. Not enough time to know if he wants to be in Haymitch's debt for the rest of his life, to take on the responsibility for the life of a girl he barely knows."

"Mom-"

"Gale," she cuts him off, "listen to me. You're just a child-"

"I'm about to get shoved in a hole for the rest of my life." His voice is low, almost defeated.

"One way or another his choices are a bit limited," Asher adds.

Hazelle isn't done yet.

"You care about Madge, right?" She takes Gale's hand, holds him in a watery look. "How is she going to feel if she finds out you and Haymitch are bartering for her life?"

Gale's eyes drop and he starts playing with the hem of one of the dresses.

Asher feels his stomach drop. He doesn't want his son living with a secret over his head. It isn't getting an innocent man killed, but manipulating a girl by not giving her all the facts of their relationship isn't much better.

"You have to tell her," he tells Gale. "Let her know what you're doing."

Bile rises in the back of Asher's throat.

What if Madge gets angry and breaks things off with Gale? What if she thinks he only likes her for what he can gain from her?

There's no good choice in the situation.

Either Gale tells her and risks not just the relationship but also the job, or he doesn't and possibly breaks her heart when the truth inevitably comes out.

Asher wishes he could stop caring about what happens with the girl. His first priority should be Gale, no matter the cost, but he's the reason she's got a manipulative drunk watching out for her. Madge Undersee only needs her future protected because of Asher and his foolishness. He owes it to the Mayor to look out for her.

"She already knows," Gale says with a shrug. "Seemedokay with it at the time."

What she'll think I the harsh light of day might be another thing, though.

They sit in silence for several minutes, frozen in thought when Hazelle sighs.

"I still don't like it."

#######

Hazelle finally goes to bed after Gale agrees to think about his deal with Haymitch a little more.

"Promise me, okay? I don't want you rushing into anything."

"Are you going to be disappointed if I don't change my mind?"

Hazelle takes Gale's face in her hands and pulls him down slightly, gives him a kiss on the forehead. "Never."

His dad sits at the kitchen table, staring at the glass of tepid water in his hand, probably wondering if tomorrow night he'll be comforting Gale after an ugly breakup if he throws Haymitch's offer away and Madge sees what a waste he is or congratulating him on the possibility of not spending his life in the mines.

As he's about to get up and go to bed, he still has work in the morning, Gale pulls out the seat across from him.

"Do you think something is going on with Haymitch?" He asks before his elbows are even against the wood of the table.

It's been rolling around in his mind since he'd left the Victors' Village.

Despite his calm demeanor, there was desperation in Haymitch's actions.

Gale isn't the kind of man he'd pick for Madge. He's a minor, poor, without a future, Haymitch should be trying to break them up and trying to find a better man for her, but he isn't.

"Why is he wasting time trying to make me into someone who can take care of her when there are plenty of guys who would bend over backwards for her?"

"None of them have," his dad points out. "Like he said, she picked you and he thinks that counts for something."

Gale arches an eyebrow. "You don't honestly think that's all there is to it, do you?"

His dad shakes his head. "No, but that's probably the best he's going to give you."

Sighing, Gale sits back in the chair and stares at the glass rolling between his dad's hands.

"Do you think this has anything to do with him coming back from the Capitol early?"

Because Gale does. The Capitol doesn't just let its Victors go home when they feel like it. There isn't a choice on attendance and his dismissal is strange.

His dad's eyes stay trained on the glass in his hands but he doesn't say anything.

"Dad-"

"No, Gale," his dad says flatly. "We aren't speculating."

Gale grits his teeth. "I'm not a little kid anymore."

He knows his dad hates the Capitol, hates the mines, and hates how the Districts are used. He knows his dad was part of the strike that the Mayor supposedly organized.

Gale also knows that the best clues they can get about what may be going on in the Capitol is their lone, drunken, Victor. Haymitch Abernathy is a pain in the ass, but he's also the person in the District that's closest to the source of their misery. He's a weathervane, and as far as Gale can tell, he's spinning wildly in the wind.

Getting booted from the Capitol before the end of the Games, making a deal with Gale despite clearly not liking him, planning for his own absence, it all point to something going down. He just doesn't know what.

"It isn't anything that'll matter to us."

"It might," Gale whispers harshly. "You didn't see him when he was talking to me. He's desperate."

Something is happening, something has Haymitch spooked, and Gale wants to know what it is. His dad does too, he has to.

"Maybe he'll tell-"

"Don't," his dad cuts him off, standing suddenly. "Don't ask. You don't know how dangerous trying to play the system can be. You don't know what it can cost."

"This isn't like the Mayor's plan with the strikes, dad." Gale runs his hands through his hair. "This might be an opening. Maybe something is happening, in other Districts, or in the Capitol, and we don't know. If Haymitch got sent home early because of something big we need to know."

That has to be it. Otherwise why send Haymitch back? It's never happened before.

"Gale," his dad's tone is warning, "drop it."

Biting his tongue, Gale stands up. It's obvious his dad isn't going to budge on this, not now anyway, so he might as well go to bed and let his imagination run wild without a disapproving glare on him.

"Fine," he mutters. "'Night."

#######

It isn't hard for Haymitch to convince the foreman of the engineering corps to agree to let the boy put his application in late.

Money talks after all, and if there's one thing Haymitch has, it's money.

He's glad the people of District Twelve are so easily swayed. Bribery is so simple, so straightforward and uncomplicated. Not like blackmail. That's messy.

"It's effective though," Wiress had told him once.

"It breeds resentment," he'd countered.

"Existence breeds resentment in some," she replied loftily. She was referring to him, he knew that, but he didn't give her the pleasure of knowing.

He resented her because she'd adapted to her life, her mantle of being a Victor, better than he had. He resented her for sacrificing any humanity she had in order to survive, for still having her family when he'd lost his, for being able to compartmentalize her life so effectively.

Maybe she was right, he resented her existence.

Still, she's useful and effective, and if good, old-fashioned bribery hadn't worked he was prepared to ask for her help.

The sun is already up, burning off the last of the early morning clouds and revealing a clear blue sky overhead. He'd left before it had even started peeking over the edge of the earth and hoped to be home before the girls woke up, wanting to avoid any questions-Madge will probably have plenty now that she's over her schoolgirl high from the night before and can think on everything that went down properly-and when he steps over the threshold and into the living room he thinks he might've succeeded.

The lights are still off, the quiet of sleep is still settled over the house and he silently pulls his shoes off and carries them into the kitchen.

"Where have you been?"

Madge is up, arms and legs coiled tightly and her expression so icy he thinks it might take setting her in the noonday sun to thaw her.

"Went on a walk, sweethear-"

"Don't," she cuts him off. "Don't 'sweetheart' me, okay?"

She stands and it's then that he realizes she's shaking.

"Mom woke up and went to get you because she wanted to show you the mockingjay she's been telling you about, the one outside her window, but guess what?" She glares at him. "You weren't there. Not even a note."

He starts to ask where Matilda is, but Madge is already on a roll, anger overtaking her.

"She got upset, thought they'd come and taken you. Thought that you'd left early without asking and they'd come and taken you away in the middle of the night. She was terrified, and I honestly couldn't tell her that she was wrong." Her lip quivers and tears start spilling down her cheeks. "I had to give her a double dose of her morphling just to calm her down enough that I could figure out just what the hell happened to you. The only reason I knew you weren't dead is because I doubt the Capitol would let you stop to get your flask when they were dragging you off."

Cold guilt settles in his stomach.

He hadn't meant to upset them, but the fact that both Madge and Matilda had realized his vanishing in the middle of the night is a very real possibility only reinforces to him that he needs to make sure things are taken care of if something really did happen.

Glancing up at the ceiling, to where Matilda is probably going to be sleeping off her morphling for the rest of the day, he sighs.

"Where were you?" Madge asks, none of the steel gone from her voice.

It's a little like he's ten again and his mother is scolding him for being out too late with his friends.

For a second he considers lying to her. She doesn't need to know what he's up to, he's a grown man after all, but then she narrows her eyes and sets her jaw and he knows that even if he weaves something believable she'll see right through it.

It's exactly like he's ten again with his mother.

"Had to go see an old friend," he tells her. It's the truth, mostly.

One of her eyebrows arches up. "A friend?"

"Yeah, a friend." He has friends. Drinking buddies mostly, but that's a kind of friend.

"Before breakfast? Without leaving a note?"

She isn't going to let it rest, so he crosses the room and collapses into one of the kitchen chairs and rests his arm on the table, drumming his fingers on the tabletop as he considers what he's going to say.

"I went to see the foreman of the engineering corps for the boy, alright?" He finally gives in.

For a minute she goes quiet, her eyes wide and curious, then she bites her lip.

"Oh, that." Her eyes drop and she begins toying with the hem of her robe. "Does all this have something to do with you coming home early from the Games?" She asks, her tone softening, edging with worry.

Haymitch glances up at her. Her nose is scrunched up in concern and her eyebrows are knitted together. She presses her lips together as she gently sits back down, her eyes never leaving his. "It does, doesn't it?"

He loves that's she's smart, but he also hates it. Being too smart gets you in trouble, and with him in her life she's got enough of that.

When he doesn't say anything, just drops her gaze and stares at his hand, still tapping out some slow tune on the table, she takes that as a confirmation.

"What's happening?"

He can't tell her, because, to be entirely honest, he isn't sure himself. Wiress might be wrong, and he hopes she is, but there's always the chance she isn't, and that's what he's planning on.

"I don't know, Pearl." He looks up at her wearily. "I only have guesses."

Madge leans in, eyes widened. "Then tell me your guesses."

#######

She doesn't want to be blindsided if, when, something happens.

That's something she's grateful for in her past, that her father had given her knowledge. His death hadn't come as a shock to her. She'd had time to prepare herself for the worst.

Maybe she hadn't had enough information to destroy anything, but there was definitely enough that she could've hurt people. He'd known full well she might break, and it was a dangerous gamble to make, but she thinks that was probably a risk he was willing to take. If the screws had been put to her, if she hadn't been dismissed as nothing more than a child, she had a bargaining chip.

Her life for the lives of anyone her father had allegedly conspired with.

That same sense of foreboding, an anxious buzz in her veins, that had permeated her home all those years ago is hovering around Mr. Abernathy now.

"I need to know." She needs to prepare, plan, decide how best to protect her mother and herself, maybe others.

"You don't," he tells her firmly. "I'm taking care of it."

It takes every fiber of her being to keep from snapping at him that he can't protect her from everything. If anyone knows the limitations of one person, no matter how much they love you, it's her.

Plus, his 'taking care of it' is probably not something she'll approve of. That's why he's being evasive about it.

"What did you do?"

It sound accusatory even though she's trying desperately for it not to be.

When he doesn't respond though, she thinks maybe she should let it be, but he's obviously guilty of something. Something that might affect her. She can't just let it go.

She narrows her eyes. "Mr. Abernathy, look at me, what did you do?"

He still keeps his eyes down, following his fingers as they trace lines in the table.

"Nothing for you to worry about."

If she hadn't been before she certainly is now. Whatever he's done it's either illegal or dangerous. Possibly both. Probably both.

Madge covers her face with her hands as he gets up and pads past her, mumbling something about checking on her mother, leaving Madge to all the worrisome possibilities her imagination can come up with.

#######

Without waking Rory and Vick, Gale rolls out of bed and pulls on a shirt before stumbling into the kitchen the next morning.

His dad is packing his lunch, a few measly scraps of bread and a bruised apple, before he turns and mumbles a goodbye at Gale.

"See you tonight," Gale grumbles back.

Once he's gone, Gale quietly nibbles on a piece of goat cheese, courtesy of Prim, before getting up and getting dressed.

He's out in the woods before the first rays of sun stretch over the horizon. The air is thick, but the cool of the night still hangs over the woods, under the shade of the trees.

Katniss might come out today, but he might miss her. He wants to talk with Madge, see how she feels really about Haymitch's little proposal without a steak dinner in her belly.

A few hours burn off, Gale picks a pail full of the biggest strawberries he can find and checks his snares, one fat rabbit and one skinny one, before he decides Madge should be up. It's well into the afternoon after all.

Dragging his feet, Gale makes his way back to the fence, under it, then cuts around the town until he comes up on the path up to the Victors' Village.

Madge is sitting on the back porch when he spots her through the thick green foliage that conceals the path. Her legs are crossed and she's holding a glass between her hands, staring at it blankly.

She doesn't notice him until his boots softly touchdown on the bottommost step up the porch.

Eyes widening, she looks ready to bolt right up until she realizes who it is.

"Gale!"

The fact that she says his name so enthusiastically gives him a little hope that she's still not opposed to him taking Haymitch up on his offer and that she hasn't decided that Gale had used her for his own benefit.

She's up and flinging her arms around his back before he's fully up the steps, almost knocking them both off the porch and onto the grass below. He regains his balance quickly though, she doesn't even notice.

"I-why are you here?" She asks as she pulls back. Her nose wrinkling up.

"I said I would." Had she already forgotten that?

Her smile falters, starts to slip off her face as she scrutinizes him.

"Oh, sorry. It's been a weird morning," she finally says, her arms slipping from around his neck.

He starts to shake his head, but he can't. Something may be wrong very soon.

"Let's sit."

He guides her to the bench swing and they both sit, a small chasm between them filled with silence until he decides there is no good way to go about this.

"So about Haymitch's offer to help me get into the engineering corps..." he begins carefully.

For a moment she's quiet, staring at him blankly before her eyes widen in horror.

Then she puts her elbows to her knees and buries her face in her hands.

"I didn't ask him to," She begins, her voice muffled and shaky. "He's just-I don't know what's gotten into him..."

Finally, Madge looks up, over at him, her eyes shining.

"I swear, I promise, it doesn't matter to me what you do, Gale. I'm not like that."

Gale feels his stomach drop to his feet. This conversation isn't going like he'd planned.

He had only meant to see if she still thought it was a good idea to take the offer, not make her think he was accusing her of being too good to be with a miner. Can he not open his mouth without sounding like a jerk?

"I know, Madge-I didn't think that!" He sputters. It never would've crossed his mind that she would be like that and he's a little horrified that it had come across that way.

"Why not?" She finally whispers, her voice brittle. "Everyone else does."

"Well I don't," Gale almost snaps. "I knows what life is like in the Seam and I want better for you."

Wet eyes turn to him. "And you'd sacrifice your future happiness for someone you don't even know that well?"

He feels a little offended that she thinks he barely knows her, though it's a little true. She's guarded and quiet, she probably thinks no one has ever wanted to know her. Gale does though. Anyone that can tolerate Katniss' sometimes sullen quiet and Haymitch's obnoxious drinking, who can keep their temper in check when people are not so subtly making jokes at their expense, who can come back from the dead and not speak ill of the people who benefited from their pain, is a person worth spending a lifetime getting to know.

Besides, who says he won't be happy with her?

"I know enough," he tells her. "If you want me to go tell him where he can put it-"

"I want you to do what you want to do, what's best for you and your family," she gently cuts him off, her soft hand reaching out and covering his much rougher one. "If you want it, I'll tell Mr. Abernathy to keep his promise. I'm-I don't have to be part of the equation."

And by her fragile tone, she probably doesn't think he should want her to be either.

"Damn it." Gale runs his hands through his hair. "Madge, you don't understand. You aren't some chip in a poker game. We aren't playing a game with your life. We're trying not to play one."

"Gale..."

"I..." Gale presses his palms to his eyes. "Just listen, alright? I'm going into the mines in the fall, and then what? Weekends. That's all I'm going to have because I'm going to be too worn out to do anything but sleep after twelve hours in the mines. That's how all the young guys are until they get worn in. Being trapped down there, not seeing you or my family, or dragging you into that hellhole, that's why I said yes. no other reason."

Not because he thinks she's a snob and not because he expected a helping hand to keep dating her. He's doing it for as many selfish reasons as selfless and she needs to see that. It's probably confirming some of the nasty things Haymitch has been saying about him, but Gale doesn't care at the moment. If it gets her to stop thinking that she's a burden to be shouldered then he'll take it.

With a late application he'll be in the mines for three months, maybe less if he's lucky. Then he'll be above ground, learning about rocks and surveying, bullshit things like that. He won't be slowly dying in a pit, too tired to appreciate life, to appreciate Madge.

He reaches out and takes her hand, running his thumb over her knuckle, hoping she can feel his sincerity through his skin.

Finally, she turns her hand over, wrapping it around his as much as she can.

"It's a pretty big gamble. What if you end up hating me?"

Gale shakes his head, letting the edges of his mouth twitch up. "Not gonna happen."

#######

I knew he was up to something, Madge thinks as she watches Gale's thumb trace circles on her hand.

Her mind sluggishly starts back on the path it had been on before he showed up.

Mr. Abernathy had gone out to see the foreman of the geographical corps. He wouldn't tell her about it much though, she thinks, because he wants it to fall to the back of her mind. He wants her to forget about it, or at least not think about it. It's not that Mr. Abernathy is helping Gale, it why he's really helping him that he's trying to keep from her.

It isn't financial security. He's smart enough and devious enough that if he wanted to set her up for the rest of her life he could, man or no man. Whatever has him making offers and brokering deals must be something that could prevent him from keeping money hidden away. Worse, though, is the possibility that it isn't money he's trying to ensure, it's actual physical security.

Gale is strong and skilled, if something were to happen he could take Madge and run. He could make sure she's safe from anyone trying to take her to use against Mr. Abernathy.

Something's going on in the Capitol, that has to be it.

Her stomach churns and tightens into a ball of anxiety.

He was sent home early, now he's making deals with Gale, being secretive. Something is definitely going on.

Madge's eyebrows pull together. "He's scared.

Gale frowns. "Who?"

"Mr. Abernathy."

His eyebrows rise. "Scared?"

Mr. Abernathy is a lot of things, annoyingly smug and cocky are the first things that come to most people's minds, but cautious and frighteningly clever are what they should think.

That's how he got to be a Victor after all.

If he's scared, then there's good reason for it.

"What's he got to be scared of?" The 'other than liver failure that is', is clearly implied in Gale's tone.

Madge's lip puckers in thought as she turns to Gale.

"Everything." Madge stands and gives Gale a waning smile. "I'll talk to you later."

She needs to talk to Mr. Abernathy. Something is wrong and she needs to find out what.

"I'm coming with you," he says, getting up and straightening the legs of his pants.

"No, Gale, you don't need to get involved." Mr. Abernathy might be paranoid, but justifiably so. The less Gale knows about whatever sordid things have urged him into deals he'd otherwise avoid the better.

"I'm already involved," he points out, a scowl forming on his features. "Haymitch involved me when he offered to help me get a job."

"That's not the same. For all they know he's just being nice to my...you know," she feels a blush creep up her cheeks.

He doesn't budge though. She knows why.

The Capitol is just as paranoid as Mr. Abernathy, maybe more so. They'll connect the dots just like Madge has, like Gale is doing. Pretending they won't is foolish and dangerous.

The knot in her stomach twists tighter. Each new thought makes the situation worse.

"Gale…" Tears start to form behind her eyes. She should've known nothing good can come her way. She's tainted, always will be. There's only one thing to do.

"Go home. Go home and work in the mines...find someone else."

The mines might be a bleak future, but she apparently has no future, maybe she never has. Dragging him with her isn't an option. If he walks away now it might look like he was never told anything, or at least that he didn't want to be involved. She hopes they'll see that as loyalty and not complacency.

She starts to turn and go in, leave and force him to reevaluate his choices, because the one to stay with her is going to be a death sentence, but he grabs her by the hand.

"I'm not going," he almost whispers. "I told that old bastard I'd take his help back when I thought he was just being jerk because I l-like you. I'm not backing down now just because the stakes might've changed. If anything, fighting back against the Capitol for everything they've put us through is more incentive."

His eyes are hard, steely gray and narrow, and his hand burns on her skin.

Gale won't back down from a fight. Not with her, not with Mr. Abernathy and not with the Capitol. It's just not his nature. She should've never let him kiss her. It was the beginning of his end.

It's going to get him killed. She knows it.

He leans in, presses a hard kiss to her lips, trying to dissolve her resolve, but she backs up.

"Gale, this is too dangerous."

"If you don't let me come with you to talk to the-to him, then I'll just track him down when he goes to buy liquor," he tells her firmly, crossing his arms over his chest.

She has no doubt he will.

With one last shuddering breath, a quick rub of her eyes, smearing unshed tears across her cheeks, Madge nods. She isn't happy about this, but Gale is nothing if not persistent.

They cut through the kitchen, letting the door screech open and clatter shut as they go into the living room.

Mr. Abernathy is on the couch, pillow over his face, blocking the sun, as he snores loudly.

Madge crosses her arms and clears the thickness from her throat. "Mr. Abernathy."

He startles, grunts and chokes awake as he yanks the pillow off his face. He twists, glaring at her. "What no-" He rolls his eyes when he spots Gale, arms crossed as he stands protectively behind Madge. "Certainly don't give a man time, do you, you little asshole?"

Madge drops into the couch beside him as he rolls and sits up, rubbing his eyes before glaring at Gale again.

"You know you aren't limited to being nice to people only once a year, right?"

He mutters something that sounds like 'whatever' as he scrubs his hand over his face again before sighing.

"I thought I was being nice," he grumbles. "Making sure you didn't end up in the slums."

Gale makes a harsh noise as he drops into the over-stuffed chair diagonal from Madge and Mr. Haymitch.

"You're from the Seam too," he snaps. "Hypocrite."

"Would you want-if you literally fought for everything you have you wouldn't be so hot on your kid marrying down," Mr. Abernathy snarls back.

"Stop." Madge grabs his hand. "Mr. Abernaty what's going on?"

He gives her a flat look. Not budging.

Finally, after what must be a full minute of staring, he sighs and glares at Gale. "Alright, sweetheart, if you want something then the brat has to g-"

"No," she cuts him off. "Gale stays. You brought him into this."

She wishes he hadn't, but what's done is done and Gale isn't budging now.

The expression on his face darkens and Madge is certain he's going to get up and storm off like a petulant child, but instead he just narrows his eyes and huffs in Gale's direction.

"One word, boy, and I'll have you drawn and quartered, understand? I know people."

Madge presses her fingers to her temples. He probably does 'know people', but he isn't nearly as hard-hearted as he wants Gale and everyone else to think. He wouldn't call his so-called friends on anyone short of his worst enemy.

Gale scowls, crosses his arms, but finally nods.

Mr. Abernathy waits a moment, lets an uncomfortable silence settle over the room, before he sighs.

"Look," he starts, pulling his flask from his shirt pocket, "like I said, I've only got guesses."

"Then give me guesses," Madge pleads again. He's smarter than anyone gives him credit for, maybe even Madge at times.

After a long, tense moment, he takes a long drink from his flask and sighing.

"All I know for sure is that they wanted us out of the Capitol. That nutcase said they didn't want us hanging around each other, talking."

"They think you're planning something?" Gale asks, his eyebrows pulling together. "What?"

"Our next read for the book club," Mr. Abernathy answers snottily. "What do you think?"

Madge's stomach clenches up. This is worse than she could've imagined. The Capitol thinks its Victors, or at least some of them, are plotting against it.

"Rebellion," she says, more for her own benefit than for anything else. She'd known it, somewhere in her mind, but saying it out loud makes it real.

It's her father all over again.

The room seems to shrink in around her, makes it hard to breathe, impossible to hear, blurring the living room from the edge in until it's nothing more than a vague memory. She can picture the cell, feel the icy floor and wind through the bars of the widow, taste the stale bread and dirty water all over again.

She's eleven and helpless and being locked away again.

Warm, rough hands begin rubbing circles on her back.

"Shhh, Pearl, nothing's going to happen to you," Mr. Abernathy tells her.

He's lying though. He can't protect her, just like her father couldn't. She's at the mercy of the Capitol again.

She wants desperately to be mad at them, her father and Mr. Abernathy are playing games with her life but not giving her a choice on whether to participate. It isn't fair.

But nothing ever is. Not her father dying, not her mother's headaches, not being tossed into the community home. Not for her and not for anyone else.

That flare of anger evaporates in her chest when she thinks of the other children in the community home. Nothing has been fair for them either.

A rebellion might get Madge killed, and her participation, or at least her being implicated in it, may not be up to her, but it will save more people, children, from losing fathers, having sick mothers, and being sent to community homes. She can't doom them all. Her father wouldn't, he hadn't, she can't either.

Somewhere, she distantly hears voices. They could be behind a door, muffled and dull, impossible to understand.

"Sit up, sweetheart," Mr. Abernathy's voice rumbles in her ear as he wraps an arm around her and pulls her to his side.

A glass is suddenly in front of her, a little water sloshing in her lap as someone tries to give it to her.

"Stop that!" A heavy hand reaches out and snatches it from where it seemingly floats. "Idiot."

Slowly her breathing steadies out and the room begins to refocus.

"Need a drink?" A voice asks, offering her the glass.

Madge shakes her head, but takes it anyway. Her actions are disconnected from her words.

Gale is standing off to the side looking confused and worried while Mr. Abernathy continues to gently rock her.

Finally, the blurred edges of her vision clear and the tense voices sharpen.

"She'll be okay," Mr. Abernathy says, not to her, but to Gale. She feels him pull her closer and press a kiss into her hair. "You're okay."

Madge pulls away, rubs her temples. An episode like this always makes her more sympathetic to her mother. If her headaches are half as bad as the ones Madge gets when she has a...'moment', then there isn't any wonder she's tried to live in a morphling haze during so many points in Madge's life.

"Are you?" She asks, her voice strangely brittle.

"Am I okay?" Mr. Abernathy gives her an odd look. "Well-"

"Are you planning something?" She clarifies, even though she knows he doesn't really need it. He's just being difficult. "Are you planning a rebellion?"

His eyes drop from her, down to the glass still held in his hand, and he lets out a long breath.

"Madge…" He smiles weakly. "You don't have to worry about it. I'm not getting you dragged into this."

"I'm going to be no matter what," she reminds him, her voice gaining a little strength.

"We'll talk about it later," he says, standing and running a hand through his already wild hair. "You need some rest and this idiot needs some lessons on not drowning someone with a cup of water."

Gale opens his mouth to argue, but Madge beats him to it.

"I'm fine now," she says sharply. "I need to know."

He hesitates some more, but Madge grabs his hand and squeezes it. She isn't weak, she just knows how bad things can get and it scares her.

That's perfectly normal.

"Fine, but like I said, it's all guesses," he grumbles, dropping back down beside her on the couch. "Wiress, that pain in the ass, she's been trying to figure something out for decades. Had some wild plan about making our own Tribute-"

"Like a Career?" Gale interrupts.

Mr. Abernathy cuts him a look. "Yeah, dumbass, like a career." He rolls his eyes and continues. "Anyway, this Tribute would have all of us backing them. We could get them out, use them to spearhead the rebellion."

"Just because you all would support them doesn't mean the Districts would," Madge points out. It seems like a fickle plan.

He nods. "That's what the kid said after the Seventy-Second Games. Said it would have to be organic to be practical. It would be too big a scale to control otherwise." His hands rub over his face again. "And it doesn't seem likely to happen, anyway."

"So," Madge bites her lip, "they sent you away so you couldn't plan?"

"That's the guess," he nods. "But it probably had more to do with the fact that the nutter has it in her head that she needed to figure out what the 'twist' to next year's Games is going to be."

The next Hunger Games, the Seventy-Fifth. A Quarter Quell.

Madge barely gets the question past her lips. "Did she?"

Mr. Abernathy shakes his head. "Wiress already had some ideas, though."

When he doesn't elaborate, Madge prods him. "What ideas?"

A long sigh escapes his lips and Madge gets the impression he's doing some quick thinking. "She's convinced they're going to Reap from Victor families."

"Well," Madge's stomach rolls, Mr. Abernathy's worry about her certainly makes more sense now, "that certainly narrows the pool."

"You don't have a family," Gale says suddenly. "That wouldn't work very well in Twelve then."

That makes Mr. Abernathy flinch and Madge shoots him a dark look over her shoulder.

"Families aren't defined just by blood, Gale," Madge tells him softly. "Families are defined by the Capitol as anyone living under the same roof."

It's how her father had explained his home District's manipulation of the tesserea system. Children in their community homes were all considered one family, and with no one to stand up in their defense, their legal guardian, a District official, could take out extra tesserea on them.

Madge and her mother would be considered Mr. Abernathy's family.

Gale continues to look confused. "But you're both girls and your mother isn't reaping age-"

"It's a Quell, you dimwit," Mr. Abernathy snaps. "Regular rules don't apply."

"If mom and I can't be Reaped...then what?" Dread pools in her stomach.

She can guess what the answer is, and judging by the pitiful look Mr. Abernathy gives her, that guess would be right.

If there's no family, he would be his own. Like he said, it's a Quell, regular rules don't apply.

They all go silent after that, letting the grim possibility sink in. Then Gale makes a snarling noise.

"Then it isn't enough for me to just get a better job. Madge would have to move out." He paces. "We'd have to get married for that-"

"Well," Mr. Abernathy coughs, "that was the next little talk we were going to hav-"

"No!" Madge stands up and tries to control her breathing; her head is starting to swim again. "I'm-You two aren't marrying me off!"

Especially if it's going to guarantee Mr. Abernathy's death.

"Madge…"

"It might be the only way, sweetheart," Mr. Abernathy says sadly.

Collapsing back onto the couch, Madge presses the heels of her hands to her eyes until little stars form behind the lids and her mind whirls.

Finally, she looks up and gives Mr. Abernathy a half-hearted smile. "You know they'll just change the rules again."

It's their prerogative. There's no way they'll let a Game, a Quell no less, pass with a lower body count than normal. He won't be going back; the Capitol will make sure of it.

Madge is sure of it.

Torturing their current Victors on live television, showing that they have no control or way to save the ones they love, would ensure they break. It would make them impossible leaders. Because if they're proven to be nothing more than human, not great heroes beyond the Capitol's grasp, then how can they start a revolution?

All their planning over the years would be for nothing, because their credibility would be bled out.

If the people of the Districts hadn't noticed how bad their Victors' lives were, then they certainly would after the Quell, and they'd want no part in it.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that too.

Minutes tick by, stretch into what must be early evening if the shadows are anything to go by, until Gale finally makes an agitated noise.

"I need to head home."

Madge gets up and follows him out, leaving Mr. Abernathy to his thoughts, whatever they may be.

When they get to the porch, Gale leans down and snatches up his game bag, he must've dropped it earlier.

"Brought you some strawberries," he mumbles as he pulls a little pail from it.

Madge stares at it for a minute, her arms and hands limp at her sides, then they come to life, flinging around his neck and nearly making him drop the pail.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs into his neck, her nose grazing the stubble already there.

He shouldn't have to deal with this. Her life is a mess, always has been and, for what little time is left, always will be. She wishes he had never kissed her. The life he had might not be a dream, but at least it wouldn't be a nightmare.

His arms wrap around her, tightening as he lifts her until only her toes scrape the wood of the porch.

"It's going to be okay," he whispers, his warm breath tickling her ear. A warm kiss presses into the patch of skin between her collar and her neck, his whiskers scratching pleasantly. "I promise."

Coming from him, it's almost believable.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too. It's all hers.

Gale is waiting on the front porch steps when Asher gets home.

He'd expected more of the cold shoulder after last night and his almost nonexistent goodbye this morning, but Gale is waiting patiently for him, foot tapping anxiously. It was his preferred position when he was little and wanted to catch Asher before he went in and got bad news, usually that Gale had failed an exam or didn't turn in homework.

School work had long stopped worrying Gale, though, and never would again. Whatever has him so fidgety doesn't have anything to do with school, Asher knows that, and that makes a knot form in the base of his stomach.

If only things were still as simple as a bad grade or detention.

Stopping, he locks eyes with his oldest and sighs.

"Something the matter?"

Gale swallows, licks his lips and nods. "Yeah"

He stands, stretching his long legs and patting the coal dust from his pants, then gives Asher a little jerk of his head. Back of the house, their preferred discussion place.

Slowly, his bones are grinding against themselves, protesting each and every step, Asher follows Gale.

They stop near the woodpile in the back that's stocked for the winter already, away from any little ears and big mouths.

"It's about Madge," Gale quickly explains, before Asher can even ask.

A million horrible possibilities slam into Asher, filing through his mind sickeningly.

Had Gale taken Hazelle's words to heart and turned down Haymitch's offer? Had Madge gotten offended? Why hadn't he given Gale better advice? Any advice?

He stares, worried and anxious, as Gale begins picking at a broken piece of bark on a wedge of wood. His expression is tight, pinched up in thought and that does nothing to ease the terror building in Asher's stomach.

"I'm not supposed to say anything," Gale continues carefully, "but...I need to talk to someone."

And Asher is still his go to person to talk things out with, even if he failed him spectacularly last night.

It's a small comfort to him that despite the disagreement and Asher's lack of helpful words the night before he still has his son's trust.

With a sigh, his fingers in his hair, tugging it up wildly, Gale begins.

Nothing could've prepared Asher for what he says though. Haymitch's offer the day before had shocked him, but what he'd imparted on Gale today surpasses it by leaps and bounds.

The Capitol isn't known for kindness, but Haymitch's guess, which Asher thinks is probably more than fact than conjecture, is beyond cruel.

It's a measured response, that's for certain, to the likely plotting of the Victors. A calculated move to put an end to their plans and send a message.

Not even the supposed strongest among you is safe. Targeting their families, a vulnerable population to be sure, for their crimes will not only make the Victors look weak, it will discourage association with them.

It's an isolation tactic, and Asher knows the people of Panem will understand it.

It'll work, there's no doubt about that.

"Dad," Gale looks so frightened and small, so painfully young, "we can't let them do this to her."

A stone settles in the pit of Asher's stomach and his blood runs cold. Madge wouldn't be in this situation if he hadn't been so foolhardy, he owes a debt to both her and her father. It's his obligation to help, but it isn't Gale's.

"I'll figure something out," he tells Gale as he stares at the ground, as if it holds the answer to the problem he created four years ago.

"You don't have to," Gale says softly.

Asher looks up and finds Gale's expression settled, determined.

"If marrying her is what it'll take then I'll marry her."

The stone in Asher's stomach turns to coal and ignites.

"You aren't getting married," he tells Gale sharply.

He's not nineteen yet, and the girl isn't even close to eighteen. Working towards that purpose is one thing, jumping feet first into it is another.

Gale scowls. "Why not? And don't say I'm too young. You and mom were my age when you got married and at least we won't be starting with a baby."

That stings a little, but Asher keeps his expression even.

"No, but from the sound of it Madge isn't thrilled about you and Haymitch trying to gang press her into marriage."

Jaw tensing, Gale lets his eyes drop. "She may not be happy about it but if it keeps her and her mom alive she'll see it's just something that has to be done."

It's probably true. From what Asher has seen, Madge is a brave kid, one that will sacrifice her choices to keep the last tie she has in the world alive. She and Gale definitely have that in common.

She's still a kid though, and it feels even less fair to force this in her into this than it does Gale, even if it saves her life.

There has to be another way around this, they just need to think.

"Don't rush into anything," Asher finally tells Gale, holding up a hand to silence his protests. "I'm going to figure something out."

Besides, for all they know, marrying her wouldn't fix the problem, even she knows that. It might even increase the pool of possible Tributes. The Capitol could decide that instead of removing Madge and her mother from Haymitch's family, Gale and Madge's marriage will increase the number of possibilities. It's an unsettling, and all too real, possibility, and probably one Gale hasn't even considered.

Gale crosses his arms and glares at the ground. "If it doesn't save Madge then don't bother telling me about it."

"We're going to save her," Asher assures him.

He just has to figure out how.

#######

Gale eats his dinner silently, doesn't let Rory goad him into coming out and playing a game of kickball with him and Vick, and goes to bed early that night.

He's got too much on his mind to even sink into a distraction.

Madge is going to be Reaped, at least that's what Haymitch thinks is going to happen, and that's as good as a death sentence, especially if her mom is taken too. She's too loyal; she'll die rather than let her mom take a fall, even if that's the only way for Madge to even have a chance.

For hours he tosses and turns, trying to come up with a plan that'll make everyone happy but it never comes. It carries on well past when Rory and Vick turn in for the evening.

Finally, as the darkest part of the night settles, both his brothers' breathing evening out, Gale gets up.

The house is silent other than his dad and Rory's snoring and a cricket that's taken up residence in their ceiling.

Dressing silently, he carries his shoes with him and puts them on once he gets outside. Then he heads for the woods.

It's eerie, walking through the District at night. The street lamps in town have been turned off to save electricity and there isn't a soul up, not even one of the stray cats that lives near the butcher's shop.

Gale feels like each step he takes echoes loudly, even though he manages to stay to the grass for the most part.

He's nothing more than a ghost in the shadows of the buildings at the edge of town, and that suits him just fine at the moment. There's nothing he wants less than to have to talk to anyone at the moment.

There's no hum from the fence when he comes up on it, just the gentle chirps of the cicadas and croaks of the frogs, so he crawls under and out, into the outstretched arms of the woods and freedom.

He feels ten times lighter in the woods. The weight, the mines looming in his future and now Madge's uncertain fate, all crushing his chest and stealing his breath, seem to dissolve around him.

Walking aimlessly, he slinks further into the darkness until he finds himself at the strawberry patch where collapses in a bare spot beside it.

It's been a good season for them. The little plants are still fairly thick with berries, and when he'd checked them, the other patches scattered here and there through the woods were doing just as well.

Plucking one, he pops it in his mouth and chews thoughtfully.

Madge had told him once, years ago when he'd first started to notice she really was pretty and that her quiet was more nerves than snobbery, that her father had loved strawberries.

He'd been teasing her about sprouting a strawberry plant in her stomach, stupid as that was, just to keep her talking. Then he'd asked her how she ended up with such a taste for them.

The plan had been to tell her she'd like the flavor even more on his lips, which looking back was a bit cheesy, but at the time he'd thought he was being incredibly clever.

Then she'd answered. Her father had liked them.

"He always liked the wild ones best," she'd added, her voice so small and fragile Gale had almost missed it.

After that the mood took a decided downturn and trying to sneak a kiss seemed like poor timing.

He supposed things have worked out though.

Sighing, he runs his hands through his hair and flops back onto the trodden down grass.

There's got to be a solution to this. He'll marry her in a heartbeat if that's what it takes. His parents will accept it eventually. In June, when Madge turns seventeen, Haymitch can sign the papers and they can get married. That'll give Gale almost an entire year to make her see this is the best choice.

Better to save two lives than sacrifice them both, especially when Haymitch agrees that his life isn't as much worth saving as Madge and her mother's.

Gale wishes his dad had been a little more supportive of the plan. He doesn't mind going at it alone, but it would be a little easier if at least one of his parents had his back, and his mother certainly wouldn't. In fact, he can already imagine the look of fear and disappointment in her eyes when he tells her that he's considered what she said and that she'll have a daughter-in-law in June.

Reaching over, he picks another berry, tossing and catching it before studying it and looking around him.

He could survive out here. Easily.

There's plenty of food, he's good with a bow and snares, they wouldn't starve. Water wouldn't be a problem, there's the lake and if they needed to go further away, there are streams that must lead to larger rivers, maybe even the ocean. It would almost be too easy for him to survive in the woods, actually live in the woods, far easier than inside the fence.

Madge might even be able to, but he doubts she'd like it, not really. Unlike him, she's never had to learn the skills that would make life in the woods living. Life on the outside really would just be survival for her, for her mother. Especially for her mother.

Running away, however tempting, isn't a real option.

When the sun's first rays start to stretch over the horizon, he gets up and heads back to the fence, under it and back to the Seam.

People are out of their houses, miners still standing with their families, gathering up children and heading toward town. Something is happening, and it can't be good.

"Gale!" Rory and Vick are rushing at him, both huffing and out of breath.

They don't ask where he's been, because this is hardly the first morning they've woken to find him gone, just give him worried looks as they start to explain.

"The Games are about to end," Rory says.

"Mandatory viewing," Vick adds, sucking in a long breath. "Mom and dad are waiting for us. Dad said if you weren't back soon he'd have to come find you, so we said we'd look for you first."

He's glad they did. His dad trudging out into the woods would've been a sure fire way to get caught, maybe thrown in the stocks or whipped for being late to a mandatory Capitol event, and it would've drawn more attention to the fact that Gale wasn't there.

Gale nods and follows them back to the house to where his relieved mom shoots him an exhausted and irritated glare and his dad just nods somberly at him from over Posy's still sleeping head.

"Well," his mom says, straightening her dress a little out of nerves, "let's go."

#######

The Square is filling up when Haymitch and Madge get to it.

They'd been in the middle of a silent breakfast, neither one of them wanting to talk about what had been said the night before and Madge and Matilda's future, or lack thereof.

He'd been silently hoping the boy was considering his words, considering what Haymitch sees as the only way he's going to have a chance of keeping his girls alive. For all he knows though, the boy is planning how he's going to break up with Madge.

Quietly he wonders if it might be too late to ask Wiress to organize a little takedown for him. He won't have Madge's heart broken on top of everything else.

Then the television clicks on.

They both freeze at the sound, Madge with her mouth full of oatmeal and Haymitch with his morning mug of white liquor half-way to his mouth when they hear the familiar electrical buzz that precedes the television screen flickering to life.

A loud noise, a thick tone of warning, came over the airwaves. An announcement.

It had woken Matilda, she'd come down the stairs, pale and worried, wringing her hands.

"That noise makes my head just throb," she'd said, her thin hands pressing to her temples. "Make it stop, Haymitch."

If he could've he would've, but the best he could do was take her back upstairs, tuck her in, and help Madge give her another dose of morphling before following the instructions from the Capitol for the finale of the Games.

It sets him back quite a lot, paying off the official that could charge her with treason for missing mandatory viewings to get her the waver, but just like with the foreman of the geologists, bribery isn't much of a hardship for Haymitch. In fact, paying for that waver is probably one of the better uses for his money.

As the square hums with curious voices, Haymitch squints up at the screen.

It's showing the families of the remaining two Tributes, beautifully clipped and pasted interviews and pictures meant to wring every ounce of emotional trauma they can. About half of it's bullshit, fabrications created to up the impact of the deaths. In the case of the Victor, though, the lies will become the truth. The families who've been trying to save their loved one will become their biggest liability.

If there were one thing Haymitch could tell them, it's to stop trying so hard. There's no Victory.

With a glance Haymitch can tell who made which. The fingerprints of the Victors in charge of each Tributes' family is transparent. It's a strange comfort to him. They aren't his friends, but they're the closest thing he has to them, and seeing their work, the assurance that they're alive, eases his mind. For the moment anyways.

Madge winds her arm around his and leans into him, her cheek pressing into his arm as she stares blankly up at the screen. Probably thinking that might be her next year, maybe not in the finale, but part of the Games, either dead, about to die, or waiting to kill. He won't let it be her though, or Matilda.

She might be right, the Capitol might, probably will, change the rules to the Game, but that doesn't mean he hasn't got other tricks up his sleeve. Or at least knows the people who do.

"Alright, sweetheart?" He asks, voice a rough whisper.

He feels her head move, nod, but she stays quiet.

Looking around he sees the crowd from the Seam, dusty and tired, wary as they mill around and wait for the program to officially start.

He spots the Hawthornes, standing at the edge of the square. The two younger boys are whispering conspiratorially while their mother, Hazelle he thinks is her name, is talking with another woman quietly behind them, her eyes keeping watch over youngest sons as she does.

Asher is holding the little girl, his lips moving by her ear, probably comforting her before the horror show starts.

A flare of jealousy lights in Haymitch's stomach that he'd never had moments like that, and never would. His chance to be a parent, to comfort and love, had died right alongside that girl from Two when he'd won his Games.

Quickly, he squashes it down. Life isn't fair, no point thinking about it. Best to ignore it, numb it, carry on.

For half a second Asher's eyes glance up, lock with Haymitch's.

There's a strange sort of sorrow, somewhere settled between anger and terror, behind his eyes, and instantly Haymitch knows that Gale Hawthorne has a big mouth. He told his dad. Little bastard. Does he not understand what 'keep your enormous trap shut' means?

Behind him someone clears their throat, deep and rough.

"Madge?"

It takes considerable effort for Haymitch to hold his groan in.

Glancing down, he sees Madge's cheeks brighten as she lets their arms pull apart and turns to face Gale.

"Hi," she murmurs, glancing around at the square. A few people have started looking, some covertly, some not, and she loathes the attention.

Hawthorne stuffs his hands in his pockets and tilts his head, studying her with a little half smile for a minute before jerking towards his family.

"You can come stand with us, if you want," he says. His eyes flick to Haymitch, and he adds, a bit reluctantly, "Both of you."

What a charmer. Really, what do girls see in him? What does Madge see in him? He isn't that good looking. He's a cocky bastard. And not that grades are anything to go on, but he barely made it through school. She's smarter than him, what will they even talk about?

From what he's heard, talking isn't something Hawthorne us well known for, and Haymitch forces down the urge to pull Madge away from the bastard. She deserves so much better.

"She's liked him for a while now," Matilda had said when he'd told her about his plan to save her and Madge the night before, about needing Hawthorne to marry her. He'd omitted his and Wiress' guesses on what the next Quarter Quell. That would've only upset her, probably put her in bed for days, so instead he'd simply told her that he wanted to make sure they were taken care of if something should happen to him and that Hawthorne was his best shot at that.

"I still hate pushing this on her." Even if it may be the only way to save her.

Matilda had just smiled airily. "It doesn't have to happen today, Haymitch."

He wishes it could though. The more distance between them the better the chances that they might not end up on the chopping block when the Quell is announced.

"One of the blessings of not having any family," Birdy had told him when Wiress had pulled him to the back of the bar and given him her grim guess about the possibility for the next Quarter Quell, "is that they can't use them against us."

Haymitch wishes now more than ever that Daniel were still alive. Madge and Matilda wouldn't be connected to him, not this way, if they were still living their old life, safe and sound in the mayor's home.

"You're parents won't mind?" Madge asks, her eyes subtly glancing over to where the Hawthornes are still standing.

Hawthorne shakes his head. "No. It'll be good. Let you get to know them better."

Ingratiate her with them, Haymitch thinks. As much as it pains Haymitch to think it, it is a smart move by Hawthorne. Maybe there's a brain in that thick skull of his after all.

Even if he'd rather have this time with just himself and Madge, it's wise to melt her into the Hawthornes. It's for the best.

Besides, he wants to meet them a little. He isn't just passing his girls to the boy. His family will be part of her life too, and he wants to make sure they aren't all as dimwitted as Gale.

Giving Madge a little nudge, Haymitch jerks his head toward where the boy's family stands. "Let's go, sweetheart."

Her nose wrinkles up as she glances up at him, clearly confused by his sudden need for social interaction. He just gives her a wink.

#######

Gale's mother and father don't look surprised when Madge and Mr. Abernathy walk up with Gale, so she assumes he discussed inviting them to stand with them before asking.

Still, his mother looks a little wary, and Madge gets the sneaking suspicion he's at least told her about Mr. Abernathy's offer to help Gale get into the geological corps and the stipulations that came with that offer. Namely, Madge.

She probably thinks Madge put him up to it. That she's a spoiled child that just doesn't want to fade away into the life of the Seam.

Madge feels her face burn with embarrassment at the thought. That isn't how she wants to be thought of, especially not by Gale's mother.

"How are you today, Madge?" Mr. Hawthorne asks.

He's smiling, genuinely, so Madge hopes that even if Mrs. Hawthorne thinks Madge is a brat out to change her son, he doesn't.

"As well as I can be," she answers.

He nods. No one is ever happy to be out in the Square watching the end of the Games.

Smoothing Posy's hair down, he presses a kiss into it and gives Madge another smile.

"Madge!" Vick shouts, as he and Rory stop tormenting each other long enough to notice her arrival. "You're standing with us?"

She nods and Rory snorts.

"Are you sure? People will know you're with Gale if you do."

Mr. Abernathy snorts and Madge cuts him an irritable glare that he doesn't seem to take too seriously, just shrugs it off as if to say 'what?'

Gale shoot both his brother and Mr. Abernathy a dark look before crossing his arms over his chest and chewing his tongue, probably biting back saying something that will get him in trouble.

"That's okay," Madge tells him brightly, though to be honest, the same thought had crossed her mind, just not in the same way that Rory is implying.

She's still worried about him. Her fight isn't his, and it isn't fair for Mr. Abernathy to drag him into the mess of her life.

Gale is stubborn though, just as stubborn as Mr. Abernathy, and now that he's in she doubts there's anything she can do to push him away. No matter how much she knows she needs to.

She wishes she had a little more will to force him away from her, to save him, but she doesn't. For the first time in a very long time she's happy, despite the danger. It's selfish and she knows it, to be happy that Gale hadn't taken her up on her offer to make Mr. Abernathy help him without having Madge's life as part of the terms. It makes everything seem so much more real, like maybe she isn't just a passing infatuation for him.

Before Rory can add further commentary, the Anthem starts to play overhead, and then Caesar Flickerman's voice calls to them, imploring them to look at the screen for what will surely be a spectacular and bloody finale.

The crowd shifts, turns to face the screen and Madge feels something warm and rough brush against her palm.

Her eyes drop and she finds Gale's fingertips, hand offered to her, by her wrist.

He gives her a little smile.

She knows she shouldn't encourage him, her mind is screaming that at her. His blood will be on her hands or her death will be on his conscience, and that isn't fair to either of them when she has the power to at least save him from heartache. She just doesn't have the will to do it.

Eyes glancing up to the screen, she sees the two boys locked in a bloody battle to the death, cut and battered, their vitals showing them both fading faster than their appearances would ever let anyone know. It's almost more a waiting game now than anything else.

That's her fate, she thinks. Violence and death, no matter what Mr. Abernathy does or how much Gale thinks he loves her.

They can't save her or her mother. Madge can't save her mother or herself.

So, she thinks sadly, she deserves a little happiness before the end.

With a little smile, she gently takes his hand, lets it wrap around hers and secure her to the moment.

After all, she doesn't have many left; she deserves to enjoy the few that remain doesn't she?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.

Gale spends more and more time in the woods after the Games end. It's the only place he can think clearly.

His dad had sat him down after the finale and told him his fears, that if he marries Madge not only will it not save her, but it might also throw the whole family into whatever mess might come up with the Quell's announcement.

"I-We can't risk it, Gale." His dad had given him a pat on the shoulder. "We'll figure this out. We're gonna save her. We just need to think."

So that's what Gale's been doing, excessively.

He doesn't tell Madge. It would probably relieve her, though, to hear him say he's going to put his family's safety above hers and her mother's, but he also knows it will hurt her, even if she won't say it out loud. She's admitted, once, that even though she knows her time is probably short, she's happy he's with her.

Telling her that his commitment to her isn't enough to put his family in harm's way would ruin the illusion, not for her, but for Gale. He doesn't want to think of himself as someone that weighs lives in his hands and makes the choice of who lives and dies.

Katniss has asked him, a few times, what's bothering him, but he keeps his troubles to himself. This is his problem, Madge's and Haymitch's problem, and he doesn't want Katniss tangled up in it.

Instead he tells her he's just worried about the mines, his application to the geology corps, the future, which is the truth too.

The knowledge that in a few weeks he'll be trapped underground, maybe for the rest of his life if his application is rejected, has been his immediate concern. Once he starts in the mines he'll have precious little time to think about how he's going to save Madge without risking his family. Because his dad is right, marrying her would probably only increase the Reaping pool. Haymitch might not care if Gale's family is Reaping in Madge or her mother's place, but Gale does, and Madge would.

Running feels like the best option.

He hadn't thought it would be, but the more time goes by, the more he watches and learns about Madge and her mother, from up close rather than afar, the more plausible it seems.

"We'd all have to go," his dad had said when Gale had brought it up. "Anyone left behind...I don't want to think what they'd do to them."

Gale doesn't either.

His family would be okay, Rory and Vick and even Posy, eventually, would easily learn to trap and hunt, fish, track, and identify plants. Then of course, his parents would be fine. It's only Madge and her mother that would be in trouble.

He's been watching them closely, trying to pinpoint skills they might have. Despite Matilda's apparent frailty, which is all anyone seems to focus on, she's more resourceful than she seems. On more than one occasion he's watched her in her garden, growing things that no one else seemingly can.

"Oh, my father taught me, dear," she'd explain, not even bothering to look at him when he'd asked where she learned to grow her garden so well.

And she's got to be tougher than she looks. She lives with Haymitch, after all.

Madge is stronger than she's given credit for, too. She'd survived being held in lock-up while the rest of the District thought she was dead, then the community home, which is no picnic, and while that may not be the wilds, it's nothing to shrug at.

They could do it. They could survive in the wilds, in the woods. He knows they could now.

His family wouldn't take much convincing, he's sure of that.

He just needs to convince Madge

#######

Gale finishes his dinner in record time, not that there's much to eat.

Summer is ending and the heat is making the game scarce, staying to the cool during the day when Gale is able to get into the woods during the week and even on his and Asher's Sunday trip. All that's left are some dry bits of rabbit and squirrel, mixed berries and nuts, and some of Prim Everdeen's cheese on stale bread.

Before Vick has even washed down the last of his bread, Gale is up and heading out the door.

"Off to see Madge, again," Hazelle comments. She isn't mad, though Asher is sure she's a little hurt that Gale is spending his last days of freedom either in the woods or with Madge and not her. He's still her baby and losing his time stings.

"Madge is a nice girl," Asher assures her as they clear the table.

"A nice girl whose guardian is trying to control his life," she adds unhappily.

He can't argue with that, and besides, she doesn't even know the worst of it. Despite desperately wanting to, he hasn't told her Gale's grim news about the possibility for the Quarter Quell and how dire the situation may be, probably is. It would help her understand Gale's need to spend as much time as he can with Madge, because as far as Asher can tell, time is all they have.

In a few months time, if Haymitch is right, Madge and her mother will be on their way to the Capitol and certain death.

"There are worse things in life than getting a better job," Asher mumbles, avoiding the glare Hazelle shoot his way.

They do the dishes in silence, put them away, then leave the boys to a game of cards (Rory is cheating, but then again, so is Vick) and Posy to her baby dolls as Asher follows Hazelle out onto the back porch.

She drops down, onto the creaking wooden steps and rubs her eyes.

"It isn't the job and it isn't Madge, you know that, Ash," she finally says, her fingers still pressed to her eyes. "I don't want-Gale shouldn't have to chose, be in debt, so early. I don't like it."

Asher flops down beside her, sighs as he reaches over, wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her to him. "I know, but it's his choice. He's a man, at least in the eyes of the government. This, Haymitch's offer, the job, even with the strings, it isn't the worst decision he'll ever have to make."

He isn't sure why he's comforting her over something that won't come to pass. Gale will protect his brothers and sister, Asher and Hazelle too, even if it costs him Madge.

And it might. It probably will.

And Madge is a good girl; she'll make sure Haymitch helps Gale, even if it won't help her.

Even after months of racking his brain, trying and trying to come up with a way out of this mess, he hasn't come to one. He's no closer to saving Madge's life than he had been when Gale had told him about the Quarter Quell.

Resting his cheek against her coarse hair, Asher sighs.

"Not the worst decision at all."

#######

Madge is setting on her bed, cross-legged with a book resting in her lap when Gale knocks on her window.

It's become their nightly ritual.

He goes out during the day, hunts, then goes for dinner with his family before making the trek up to the Victors' Village, up the little lattice to Madge's window.

Most nights they just sit on the roof, stare up at the stars while Madge points out the summer constellations. Just like her father had taught to her.

Other nights Gale takes her out onto the paths around her house, teaching her the few plants, edible and poisonous, that surround her home. They usually end up in the meadow, hidden in the thick little clumps of trees that outline the little common.

Madge likes those days best.

There's usually a lot of kissing on those days.

Well, it isn't all kissing, she supposes.

Sometimes they'll just lie on the grass and talk. Mostly about nonsense.

"Favorite color?"

"Blue," Gale told her. "Like the sky."

"Gray," Madge answered, though she didn't tell him why.

"Favorite food?"

Madge groaned. "Mr. Abernathy brings back this drink." Gale instantly made a face and Madge laughed. "Not that kind. It's...it's a sweet. Liquid chocolate."

"I didn't ask for your favorite drink," he grumbled, looking uncomfortable at the thought of such a rich treat.

Poking him in the side, Madge wrapped his hand in hers and kissed his knuckles. "Fine. Mellark's rolls."

He didn't look much happier with that, but at least it was achievable.

"Now you," she prompted.

Gale sat up a little straighter, wrapped his arm around her and contemplated his answer carefully. Finally, he nodded. "Turkey jerky."

Madge snorted the instant it hit her ears.

"Turkey jerky?" She wrinkled her nose as she looked up at him through her bangs. "Do you actually like it best or do you just like to say it?"

He shrugs. "Both?"

Of course both. How could she have been so silly?

"How many kids?" Gale asked one particularly muggy night, causing Madge to freeze in her spot, hidden under the thick canopy of an ancient tree at the edge of the meadow.

That wasn't nonsense.

She'd shifted uncomfortably. There would be no children in her future, not with Gale, not with anyone, and thinking about them is painful.

He nudged her with his shoulder. "Come on. How many?"

Even though Madge knows there are no children to be had, Madge can't bring herself not to indulge him. He's too cute for that and she's too, too weak.

Madge feels her nose wrinkle up in contemplation, then she sighs. "At least two."

One is too lonely. She's always envied other kids, ones with siblings. Shouldering her life, her mother and her the death of her father, the isolation and ridicule, might've been a little easier if she'd had someone by her side, a brother or a sister.

It's a little selfish, wanting a nonexistent person, someone far more blameless than herself, to suffer through the trials of her life with her, but it's only a dream. She won't have even one child.

"At least," Gale repeated. He flopped back, staring up through the leaves at the moon. "Two sounds nice. A boy and a girl?"

She shrugged. "It wouldn't matter to me."

It sounded silly, like some mantra all parents-to-be would say, but all she really would want is for them to be healthy.

"I'd want girls," Gale told her. "Boys are too much trouble."

It took a great amount of effort for her not to tell Gale that he sounded a lot like Mr. Abernathy. He'd spent half Madge's life telling her that boys are filthy minded, dirty little bastards, and that he's glad she's a girl.

"Smell better, that's for damn sure," he'd muttered. "Better hygiene."

Tonight, as Gale grins in at her from the roof, she hopes he has less heavy topics to discuss. She doesn't feel like coming home to cry her eyes out over a lost future.

He knocks again, holds up a handful of wildflowers as Madge opens the window to let him in.

Quietly, he crawls in, his heavy boots not making a sound as they land on the wooden floor of her room.

Madge takes the flowers from him and puts them in the vase by her bedside table, mixing them with others in varying states of wilting before turning back to find him looming over her.

His arms snake around her as he pulls her flush to him. "I have a surprise for you."

Eyebrow quirked, Madge frowns. "What?"

Almost half an hour later, after shimmying down the side of her house, getting her foot stuck in the lattice and then weaving through the secret paths, she finds herself at the fence.

"What are we doing at the fence, Gale?"

He holds up a hand, shushing her as he tilts his head, listening.

A few seconds later he smiles and grabs her hand. "Come on."

"Whe-Gale, where are we going?" She asks, already knowing the answer.

Gale just grins as he ducks down, lifting the bottom of the fence for her."Out."

That one word makes her freeze. She can't go out. Out isn't safe, out is opening her up to being taken back into the cold holding cells, and she can't do that again.

"No, Gale, I can't." She shakes her head, pulls back from the fence.

"Madge," he plants his feet and locks his eyes with hers, "I'm with you. It'll be okay."

It almost makes her laugh, that he thinks his presence alone will keep her safe. It's silly. What's even sillier, though, is that she believes it herself.

Maybe it's that he genuinely seems to believe it himself, that he's got some kind of magical power to protect her, that convinces her, or maybe it's that his eyes seem more like the moon than they have at any point before, whatever it is, she finds herself letting him lead her out of the District and into the forest.

#######

Gale holds tight to Madge's hand as he leads her through the trees.

Her eyes are wide, worried, and he gives her a squeeze of reassurance. He's with her and he isn't going to let anything happen to her, he's going to protect her. All he has to do is convince her to let him.

They weave through the woods, for an hour, over up-grown roots and downed limbs from the most recent summer storm, until they reach the edge, an open hill that spreads out overlooking the lake below.

"Gale it's beautiful," she sighs.

He pulls her down, onto the soft grass and into his lap.

"Down there is a lake, and there's a cabin, then beyond that…" He waves his hand. "I don't know."

She smiles, her eyes reflecting back the starlight as she scans over the landscape, probably the first stretch of free land she's ever seen.

"There's-uh-there's a strawberry patch beyond that tree line over there, and the geese fly over in the winter and-"

"Gale," she stops him, "why are you showing me all this?"

He shrugs. "This is my happy place. This is where I'm free. I thought-I wanted you to see it."

Her forehead wrinkles up and she tilts her head, frowning a bit. "Why? It's-I'm glad, but why?"

This is it, the moment that will make or break his plans. He takes a deep breath.

"I want to run away."

For a minute she stares at him, her mouth hanging open slightly and her eyes hazy, trying to decipher his words, then she shakes her head. "Gale, we can't."

She's already trying to get up from his lap, pushing herself away, as Gale tries to keep her in place.

"We can," he growls.

"No-"

"Yes."

"You-Gale, your family-"

"-would come with us," he quickly puts that protest down. Then he adds, "And your mother, too. All of us. My dad and the boys, even my mom, we could keep us alive through the winter and then you and your mom could plant a garden in the spring when we find somewhere permanent. We cou-"

"No, Gale, we can't." Madge shakes her head, tears are about to fall from her eyes.

"We ca-"

"Gale!" She grabs his shoulders, then his face, making him look her dead on. "Gale, you don't understand. Even if we could get everyone out here, your family and my mother, what about Mr. Abernathy? I can't leave him Gale."

"Then we'll take him with us too," Gale snaps, a little more harshly than he intends.

He'll take that idiot with them all the way to the ends of the earth if he has to.

Tears are dripping off her jaw now and her face is screwed up, nose running.

"They will find us, Gale. They'll find us and they'll destroy us. Just because we'd be outside the fence doesn't mean we'd be outside their control." She swats tears from her face, smearing them across her cheeks. "They'll find us an-and killing us won't be the worst of it."

Gale tries to calm her cups her face and tries to brush the tears away from her face, ask her just what the worst is, but she's off and stammering, already telling him. Everything.

"Maybe they'll k-kill Rory a-and Vick and P-P-Posy, your p-parents, bec-cause they'll know it was your idea. They'll kill them to pun-n-nish you." She shakes her head, sending her hair flying wildly. "They'll turn you into an av-vox. Make you live with what happened, in the Capitol."

"Then I-I don't even know what they'll do to my mother and me, to Mr. Abernathy, but it'll be worse than being sent to the Games. At least there our deaths can be fast. What-ever the Capitol would-will- do to us, it won't be fast."

Madge's eyes are red-rimmed and her nose is running, all her words are garbled together in a mish-mash that Gale almost doesn't understand.

She's terrified.

Terrified, but telling him the truth. Cold, hard, and ugly.

Gale's hands drop down to her shoulders as she nods absently at him.

"We can't run, Gale. There's no way out of this."

Looking down, Gale's eyes trace the pattern on her dress, delicate little lines spindling between white woven flowers on the pale blue material, memorizing the way her chest rises and falls.

Cool hands, a little damp, run over Gale's cheek, tipping his face back up, making him look at her.

"I'm sorry, Gale."

Her voice is so small, barely audible over the crickets in the distance, that Gale feels his heart begin to shatter in his chest. This fight was over before it even began, and Madge knew that. There was never a way out.

Without a word, Gale pulls her to him, buries his face in her hair and breathes in the scent of whatever fancy shampoo Haymitch bought her. Her tears start to soak through the shoulder of his shirt and he tries to memorize the way she feels pressed against him, he may not have many more chances to do it.

Fireflies flash on and off around him, reflecting off the lake down below, and Gale watches the ripples from the wind make them dance. Bugs buzz and hum while some birds, he thinks they might be mockinjays, sing a sad little song.

His arms tighten around her.

She might not have any hope left, but Gale does. He isn't giving up, not yet. He can't.

There's got to be a way.

There has to be.

#######

Gale brings her home once she's all cried out, his shirt soaked with tears and snot and probably a little spittle.

It hurt, tearing apart his hope for an escape, but it had to be done. False beliefs, though, no matter how comforting, weren't going to help them. He needs to see that they're in an impossible situation and that there's no way out. There is no magic power, not from Mr. Abernathy and not from him, that's going to save her.

He helps her up the lattice, to the roof, then through her window, still propped open with her book, cool air gently wafting out of it.

His eyes are still bright, but not red-rimmed like Madge's, he's a little better at keeping himself together than she is, clearly.

For a few minutes he just sits on the window sill, staring at the rug, his eyes moving over the vines and flowers that cover it. Then he looks up, hold his hand out to her.

She takes it, lets him pull her to his chest again and wrap her in his warmth.

Closing her eyes, Madge pretends again that she's safe. In Gale's arms, warm and loved.

It's only an illusion though.

Gale is going to the mines soon, and if Mr. Abernathy is successful, maybe to the geological corp. He's got a life ahead of him, and Madge can only hope it's a happy one.

Her arms tighten around him and she presses a kiss into the stubble of his neck.

Madge can't be a part of his future, just his present.

All she can do with her last bits of time are ensure that his life after she's gone is happy and comfortable, that Gale and his family are safe.

That's all she has left to live for.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: One quick warning in this chapter, little Madge has a rough time, meaning she gets a bit roughed up, there's the suggestion of worse, but she makes it through okay. I'm just warning you.

Madge gets up, pulls on her clothes for the day, slips her shoes on, and grabs her package before propping open the window as quietly as she can.

The air is still and warm, but less thick without the sun overhead, bugs are still humming, as she crawls out and across the roof to the lattice and down.

Her feet hit the soft, dew-damp grass and she stops to straighten her dress out, smoothing a few creases from it and brushing some stray leaves away before turning and nearly screaming.

"Mr. Abernathy!" It comes out as a gasp as she stifles the yell.

"Heading somewhere, sweetheart?"

He's dressed already, too. Boots and dull colored clothes in their freshly cleaned state, Madge's mother's doing. There's a mug in his hand, probably coffee and a splash of white liquor, which is an improvement from when she and her mother first arrived.

She'd come home from school to find him gone, during the early days of her and her mother living there. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence, so she'd carried on, done her chores and tended to her mother who was still recovering from her time in the locked ward, after Madge's father's death.

Night had come, though, crept up on the Victors' Village, and he still hadn't been home.

"They've taken him," her mother had begun weeping. "They've taken him too."

Madge had tried to calm her, but in the end only a dose of her morphling had done the trick.

Hours had slipped by, and as midnight approached, she pulled on a coat and shoes to go looking for him.

After carefully traversing the paths around the Town, down to the edge of the Seam, she'd stayed to the shadows and quietly made her way to the bar.

There was only one bar in the Seam, and finding it wasn't much of a task, just follow the empty beer bottles and ruckus to the far reaches of the District.

It wasn't much more than a tin building with a flimsy door and a poor reputation, and it terrified her.

On more than one occasion, men from the mines had come from it, filthy and stinking, to yell at her house-her old house. The new Mayor's house.

Her father could've had them arrested for public drunkenness, but he never did.

"They have families to, Magdalene. What would happen to them if they lost a day of work?"

Madge had been building up the courage to go in, find Mr. Abernathy and drag his drunken self home, it was the only place he could possibly be, when someone grabbed her by the wrist.

"Where are you going, pretty?" A man, thin and coal dust coated, had grinned down at her. He was missing a tooth and his hair was a greasy mess.

"I'm-I need to find someone," she'd answered, her little fingers trying to loosen his grip on her arm which was losing circulation, getting prickly and numb.

"I'm someone." His smile had widened and he'd leaned down closer, his drink soaked breath blowing in her face and his bloodshot eyes raking over her and causing her to cringe. "I could be who you're looking for."

Her head shook and she tried harder to pull away. "Let me go!"

"Look like you could use some loosening up," he snickered, jerking her towards him as she dug her heels into the gravel. It didn't help.

"No, please," she pleaded, tears beginning to form behind her eyes. "Please let me go."

"Did 'please' work on the Peacekeepers?" He asked, lips curling up. "Did they like it when you asked nicely?"

She hadn't understood what he meant at the time, it had taken her several years for the meaning of his words to hit her, and when she did her stomach had churned. At the time though, it had only been a cold taunt.

Shaking her head, Madge continued to struggle, finally planting her feet and balling her fist, she'd swung up, hitting him hard under the jaw and making his teeth collide in his mouth with a sickening crack. It got him to let go at least.

Running, she'd made it almost to the door of the bar, which probably wasn't much safer, but that she hoped had at least one sympathetic person in it, before tripping.

Her knees had hit the gravel painfully, ripping her dress and scraping up her knees and the palms of her hands. As she struggled to her feet again, the man jumped on her.

"That's some poor manners you've got there, pretty."

Much as she struggled, he was too strong, too much bigger than her, and had the high ground. She started to yell, but he covered her mouth with his filthy hand.

"Now, let's us go som-"

Someone grabbed him by the collar, yanked him from her and tossed him away.

Too stunned to do anything, Madge stayed there, gravel digging into her back and her breathing uneven as she stared up at the star speckled sky.

"Get back here!" A deep voice, harsh and angry, yelled.

Another voice, just as deep and just as angry, called out. "Leave it, Ash. We'll deal with him later."

Madge had pushed herself up, propped on her elbows, and stared out with her tear blurred eyes to find a couple of men, probably miners, both staring off into the darkness where she assumed the man had run.

One of the men, the one closer to her, frowned and came over.

"What are you doing out here all alone?" He asked, offering her a hand.

Keeping her eyes down, Madge had pushed herself to her feet without taking his hand and ignored his question.

The other man, she finally recognized him as Mr. Hawthorne, jogged over, his face pulled into a sharp look of worry.

"Madge?" He leaned over, hand to his knees, and caught her eyes. "Hey, little lady."

All the tears that she'd managed to keep in during her fight, all the worry and fear, spilled out, down her cheeks and off her chin.

"I was-s jusht looking f-for Mr. A-Ab-bernathy," she sputtered. "He d-didn't come ho-me."

Swatting at her face and cursing herself for how absolutely pitiful she was, Madge had shaken her head, taken several deep breaths. There was no time to fall apart.

Mr. Hawthorne reached in his pocket, pulled out a yellowed handkerchief and held it out to her.

Giving him a grateful smile, Madge carefully used as little of it as she could, blotting the edges of her eyes and tracing the paths the tears had taken to soak them up.

"I'm better now," she told them, her voice still thick, as she handed the cloth back.

"He's in there?" Mr. Hawthorne had asked, stuffing the handkerchief back in his pocket, his eyes narrowed and focused on the bar, glowing with cigarettes and buzzing with drunkenness.

Madge shrugged. "I think so."

She hoped so. If he wasn't she wasn't sure where he'd be.

Without waiting for another word, Mr. Hawthorne had stomped off, up to the door and into the bar.

"Get her home, Jude. I'll get him."

As the door dropped closed behind him Madge thought she saw Mr. Abernathy sitting at the bar, slumped over.

"Come on," the other man, Madge recognizes him vaguely as one of the men that had come to her father before the strike, told her. "Asher will get Haymitch."

While she hadn't felt like she should trust anyone after the night she had up to that point, Madge just nodded and let him lead her back through the Seam.

They'd made it back to the house and sat on the back porch steps, Madge studying her skinned knee and ragged palms while Jude fiddled with a chunk of wood, carving delicate looking patterns into it.

"You should keep that knee covered," he had told her.

"It's just a scratch," Madge muttered, picking at a sliver of skin barely still attached. "It doesn't matter."

Silence had stretched out, filled with the lonely noises of the wild dogs outside the fence and the radio playing softly inside, until Jude sighed.

"I'm sorry."

Madge looked to him, eyebrows high on her forehead. "You didn't do anything."

He nodded. "I did." His jaw tensed and he frowned, forehead creasing in worry. "You know I was one of the men that organized the strike? It's my fault your dad is dead."

And by extension, his fault she'd ended up in the Seam looking for her drunken guardian, at least in his mind.

Reaching out, Madge had patted his hand, tried to force a smile.

Her father had made his choice. Madge wished he hadn't had to, wished she were still in her old home, but wishes weren't reality and even she knew that.

She tried to say it was okay, but it wasn't, not for her. Out of everything that had happened, Madge felt she'd gotten the rawest deal. Getting mad wouldn't change that, though, yelling at one of the men wouldn't change that, so she stayed quiet.

When Mr. Hawthorne finally came up, helping a stumbling Mr. Abernathy, Madge ran out to greet them.

He had been wet, soaked to the bone, and one of his eyes was swollen shut.

"Fell," he mumbled as he struggled up the steps to the door. He'd given her a sad little half glance as he'd pulled the door open and waved her in. "Come on, sweetheart."

Before she'd gone in, she'd turned and given Mr. Hawthorne and his friend a forced smile. "Thank you."

A few days later, after he'd dried out, both of drink and from whatever puddle he'd managed to land in and his black eye had begun to fade in places to a sickly yellow and green and purple, they'd been sitting down for breakfast, in the bright, crisp light of morning and Madge had noticed a tremor in his hand.

"Why are your hands shaking?" Madge had asked as she sat at the kitchen table, watching him struggle with his fork as he tried to cut his egg.

"Just-uh-just nerves, sweetheart," he'd told her, his eyes focused on the seemingly impossible task of his breakfast.

Madge had gotten up, walked around the table to his seat and taken the fork from his hand carefully before carefully cutting his egg for him. She smiled and handed the fork back, glad to be even a little bit useful to him.

With a smile, he'd taken the fork back into his still unsteady hand. "Thanks."

As she'd turned her eyes had caught on his mug, half full with dark liquid.

She'd gone to the cabinet, pulled one of his bottles of white liquor from where her mother had decided a proper place for them was, and walked back to the table. "Here."

The cap was off and the bottle's lip was to the mug when he'd grabbed her hand.

"Stop."

His eyes were staring strangely at the bottle, warily, and Madge finally noticed the beads of sweat along his forehead.

"Are you sick?" Her heart began hammering in her chest. She turned quickly and ran to the sink, grabbed up a clean rag and wet it under the tap before running back to him and starting to mop up his face. "Hold still."

"I'm not sick," he grumbled, taking the rag from her. "I just-I'm trying to quit with the drinking."

Madge stopped trying to wrestle the rag from him. "Why?"

Mr. Abernathy's eyes had dropped to the rag, twisting it in his hands. "Don't want a repeat of last week." He reached out and cupped her cheek, gave her a worn smile. "I love you too much."

Madge's heart had cracked.

"It was okay-"

"It wasn't," he snapped.

Madge took a step back and his expression softened.

"Sorry," he muttered, running his hand over his face. Bloodshot eyes peeked out at her. "I'm not very good at this parenting thing."

She shrugged. Neither was her mother, but Madge still loved her. "It's okay."

He'd reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't want you to ever come out looking for me again. I don't want to ever be out like that again. No more drinking."

Turning back to his plate, he'd taken the bottle and pushed it toward her. "Need to dump all this crap."

Madge had stood there, watching his hand shake as he struggled with his egg, watching the sweat on his forehead, that strange look in his eyes, before uncapping the bottle again.

"Dad said that mom couldn't just stop the morphling because the withdrawal would kill her." There are no medications in Twelve like there are in the Capitol that could augment the violent symptoms of removing something that's become as vital as air to someone. She couldn't let Mr. Abernathy do something that might kill him. "I don't think you can just stop, Mr. Abernathy."

She'd tipped the bottle up and filled the other half of the mug with white liquor.

"Maybe just, you know, drink a little less. Go out a little less."

And he had. For her and for her mother.

The unfortunate side effect of his decreased drinking was that he didn't sleep nearly enough.

He takes a sip of his coffee and grins at her, waiting for her answer.

Taking a deep breath, Madge nods. "It's Gale's first day in the mines. I wanted to see him. Wish him luck."

Mr. Abernathy takes another sip of his coffee and sighs. "Figured as much."

He's going to tell her no, that it's still dark out and not safe and that she needs to go back up stairs and go to bed.

After a minute, several sips of coffee and a stretch of quiet only interrupted by his slurping, he makes a little gesture, telling her to come to him. "Let's go then."

Madge's nose wrinkles. "What?"

His bushy eyebrows rise. "I said 'let's go'."

"Why?" He doesn't want to see Gale and Gale certainly doesn't want to see him.

"I'm not stupid, kiddo. You and that idiot have been sneaking out to do who-knows-what for the past couple of months, when you were supposed to be sleeping. Doesn't matter what I say, you'll go out, but I'm not going to let you go alone."

Madge tilts her head, studies him for a second, before taking a step forward.

"Really?"

He nods. "Really."

A little grin forms on Madge's lips as she lunges forward and throws her arms around his neck. "Thank you"

She feels a quick kiss on her temple before he presses his nose into her hair. "Anything for you, Pearl."

#######

Gale gets up and sighs.

Rory and Vick are still blissfully asleep as he gathers up his clothes, a new, blue mining uniform and heavy boots, a dented helmet with a headlamp affixed to the front, and quietly dresses.

When he exits, gently shutting the door, he turns to find his mom and dad waiting for him.

His mom is crying already, tear stains are streaked down her cheeks despite her attempts to wipe them away and she's sniffling as she softly walks across the room and takes his face in her hands.

"You be careful," she whispers. A little smile flicks up at the corners of her lips. "I love you."

Gale leans into her touch, lets his arms wrap around her and pull her to him.

He doesn't want to go. He's never wanted to go. The mines have always been his future, but such a distant one that he's hoped that he might be saved from them.

Just like Madge and the Games though, there's no escaping this fate.

Something cold rolls down his cheek and he realizes he's crying and buries his face in her shoulder. He doesn't want his dad to see him being such a baby about this. This is life, and Gale knows he needs to get used to it.

Early mornings and late nights, no more days in the woods except weekends, no more lazy evenings with Madge, this is his life.

Before he can think better of it, a few words slip out.

"I'm scared," he breathes into his mom's hair, his voice brittle, like the little kid he suddenly feels like. He wants to be brave, but being lowered into what may very well be his grave has zapped his bravery for the moment.

"I know, baby," she murmurs back. "I know."

She smoothes his hair down and pulls back, a bit reluctantly, gives him a watery smile.

"Remember, they review the applications in a month. You may get out of there soon."

Despite her misgivings, she's warmed to Haymitch's offer, embraced it and the fact that it will save at least one of her boys, if not all three, from the mines.

"Rory and Vick will have a better chance if they apply and have a family member in the corps," she'd said. "If you still want to. I don't want you doing something just to-"

"Mom," Gale had stopped her. "I'm not exactly easily swayed."

She'd grinned. "No, I suppose you aren't. Always did have your mind set."

And he wasn't likely to change his decisions without a good reason.

Gale nods. "Soon."

She presses another kiss to his cheek, fusses with his name badge, which she'd sewn herself, for a moment longer before his dad clears his throat. "Time to go, son."

Taking a deep breath, Gale gives her one last kiss on the forehead before crossing the room with her on his heels.

"Take your lunches," she says, handing both of them little metal boxes she's packed with what little food there is to spare.

Gale's dad leans over and kisses her cheek before opening the door. He gives Gale a tight look. "Come on."

Outside, other men are already heading out, some dressed in ragged uniforms, and others, the new graduates, dressed in newly distributed ones, not tattered and tested during a full shift.

"Good to see you, Gale," Jude, helmet bouncing against his leg, says as his road intersects with Gale and his dad's.

Gale just grunts. His voice has stopped working.

His dad gives him a bracing pat on the shoulder and an apologetic look.

Sorry you're here. Sorry you're going into the mines. Sorry things aren't better. Sorry.

No one talks after that. The only noise is the soft trampling of miners' boots walking through the Seam and towards the mines. A somber processional of gray men and soon-to-be gray men.

When the gates are in view, the gaping mouth of the mines, dozens of them, barely visible in the haze of the slowly waking sun, his dad grabs his shoulder.

He expects some words of advice, reiterations of warnings he's been giving Gale for the past year or more, but instead he gets a grin.

"Look over there," he says, pointing toward the tree line that pushes up against the fence around the mine.

For a second Gale doesn't see anything, just dust from the men's feet and early morning mist, then he spots her.

She's in a tan dress, almost blending in with the dull bark and burnt leaves of the bushes around her, one of her arms still clinging to the trunk of an ancient tree as she squints out to the road where the men are walking.

With a little shove, Gale's dad smiles, jerks his head toward the trees and bushes along the edge of the road. "Go, you have a little time."

Gale stares at him for a minute, eyebrows knitted together, then back at Madge still waiting by the edge of the road and back again. Backing up, he gives his dad a bright smile. "Thanks."

He almost trips on the gravel, gets yelled at by one of the older men as he cuts in front of him, before he reaches the tree line and Madge.

His feet stop at the edge of the road, the break between the gravel and the dark soil and he stares at her, still certain she'll evaporate in the mist.

"Good morning," she finally says, pulling her hand from behind the tree and revealing a little bundle clutched in her fingers. She chews her lip as she makes her way through the bushes. "I brought you a first day gift."

Her hand shoots out, holding the cloth wrapped package to him.

Gale takes a step, onto the soil, then to the dew-damp grass, reaches out and grabs her, pulling her into him.

"You haven't even seen what it is yet," she jokes, her voice muffled in his shoulder.

It could be a rock and he wouldn't care. He's getting to see her, and he hadn't thought he'd be able to. He'd already told her he'd be too tired after his first day to come out and see her, and she'd promised she wouldn't come out to the Seam to see him.

"It'll be dark and I don't want you out there without someone." And Gale would be too exhausted to take her home, and his brothers were just plain out of the question.

Much as he'd love to have her in his bed after the pain his first day is sure to hold, he doubts his parents would be very happy with that arrangement. Plus, Rory is perverted and Vick's eyes have begun to linger on girls a little too long. No way is he making her stay in the room with those idiots.

Pressing her to him, letting his body imprint her curves into his angles and his hands memorize the texture of her dress and the way it moves across her skin when he clutches it in his fists, he buries his face in her hair. She smells like shampoo he'll never be able to afford and sunshine, like life, and that's going to be in short supply in the mines. He wants to absorb every ounce of it he can.

Much too soon, Gale hears the first bell, there'll be two more before he's late, something he can't afford being new.

Madge pulls back, her hand running over the patch with his name on it before she looks up and grins at him.

"You look very handsome."

He rolls his eyes. He looks like every other guy, well, every other new guy.

"I just wanted to wish you good luck," she adds quickly, focusing on his name, eyes tracing the red embroidering on the white canvas.

"Thanks," Gale murmurs, leaning in and catching her lips. He doesn't want to talk. All he wants is to taste her and feel her and pretend that when the second bell rings he isn't going to be that much closer to having to face his fate.

"You shouldn't've come," he mutters into her neck as he nips at the skin, down to her collar bone. Just like if she comes to his house, she's going to have to get home on her own. It isn't safe.

But damned if he isn't happy she did.

The second bell goes off and his stomach drops as he tightens his arms around her.

Tears begin to build behind his eyes and he blinks them back. This is how it is. He's not any better than anyone else. Even if Haymitch gets him out of the mines, everyone spends at least a few months in the hole.

That's life.

"Don't worry," she whispers, her hot breath against his ear. "Mr. Abernathy is waiting for me back on the path."

While he doesn't relish the idea of Haymitch watching him disapprovingly from the shadows, at least Madge had the good sense not to come alone.

She pulls back again, and presses the cloth package into his hand. "Here. You're going to be late."

Her feet step from him, back into the dusty gray-brown of the bushes and trees, then, she lurches forward, pressing a hard but too brief kiss to his lips. "I'll see you this weekend."

Before Gale can protest, she's already several feet deep in the bushes, vanishing behind the tree line.

"Gale!" His dad calls to him, giving him an anxious wave of his hand. The third bell is probably close to ringing.

Running to his dad, they start up again, toward the gate.

"What did she bring you?" He asks, eyeing the package curiously.

It's thick material, sky blue and tied up with what he recognizes as one of her ribbons.

He pulls one of the tails of the bow, unraveling it, tucking the ribbon into his pocket before unwrapping the rest of the material.

It's a little dented tin, a couple of inches deep and about as wide as his hand, Gale's name has been painted across the top in black. Carefully, he pops the lid and peaks inside. It's half a dozen strawberries, carefully dipped in chocolate and sealed up.

"That'll make for a nice lunch," his dad comments as he steers Gale towards the foreman assigning the new miners to their crews.

Gale stares at the strawberries for a minute, as he waits in the line, before opening his metal lunch box and carefully nestling it in with the bit of hard bread and chunk of cheese his mother had packed him before clipping it shut again. He takes the material and puts it to his nose. It has just the hint of her scent lingering on it, and he smiles. Folding the it, he pulls out the ribbon and wraps it around before putting it in his pocket.

It isn't heavy, but he can feel it in his pocket, and that might just make the elevator ride down a little more bearable.

#######

Madge carefully steps over a fallen branch, back onto the path where Mr. Abernathy is waiting for her.

"Hope he appreciates my strawberries," he grumbles.

Linking her arm with his, Madge rolls her eyes. "I'm sure he'll savor each and every bite."

Mr. Abernathy snorts at that.

They wander along the path, around the Town and back towards the Victors' Village as the sun streaks the sky with oranges and pinks, brushing against pale blue and the wisps of clouds.

"He's going to be okay," Mr. Abernathy says suddenly, as the path opens up and the rows of houses come into view. "Too stubborn for anything to happen to him."

Madge nods, not certain how much stubbornness will help if there's a mine collapse.

"I'm gonna get him out," he continues on. "Don't worry about that, alright?"

He's still hoping Gale can save her, and she hasn't brought up the fact, again, that the Capitol will just change the rules on them even if she were to marry Gale. Either it would put her and her mother back into the pool or add Gale's family, she sure of it.

The hope, the delusion that he's going to save her may be the only thing keeping him going and she can't break him like that.

Instead she nods, pops up on her toes and presses a kiss to his scratchy cheek. "I love you."

Tilting his head, he gives her a half smile before wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her firmly to his side and pressing a kiss into her hair. "I love you, too, Pearl."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.

Mr. Abernathy walks Madge to within sight of the Hawthornes' house before he stops and turns to her.

"I'll be back at nine to get you," he says. "Don't take a step without me."

She nods, giving him an indulgent smile. "I know."

"I mean it."

"I know."

He grumbles something, she can't make it out, then shoots the house a dark look before gesturing for her to go.

Since he isn't likely to leave before he's sure she's inside, out of the brisk fall wind and the sprinkles of rain, she pops on her toes, gives him a quick kiss on the cheek, then runs for the house.

The porch creaks as she jumps up the two small, almost rotted through, steps and lands with a soft clatter. Knocking on the door, she waits for Mrs. Hawthorne to open it and let her in.

"Oh, Madge!" She smiles brightly. "I wasn't expecting you until later. Why aren't you at school?"

Madge shrugs, her cheeks burning. "I-I'm taking the day off."

Mr. Abernathy has never been very strict with her attendance, especially after the rough treatment the other kids had put her through when she'd first started back. He probably pays someone off for her, and she knows it's unfair to have him do it, but he's always quelled her worries with a shrug and a few words of comfort.

"What are they teaching you anyways? Not a damn thing. I've got money and if this isn't a good use of it then I don't know what is."

Giving her a sheepish grin, Madge tells her quietly, "I just wanted to help."

She turns and waves to Mr. Abernathy before stepping in, out of the damp cold.

Pulling off her scarf, then her heavy coat, Madge stuffs them behind the door, out of view. She hates any of the Hawthornes having to see the expensive, if slightly worn, coat everytime she comes for a visit.

The house smells of cinnamon, a rare luxury that Madge imagines Mr. Hawthorne had traded for specifically for this occasion. Gale's birthday.

"Madge!" Posy squeaks as she emerges from her room, rubbing her eyes, clearly just waking from her afternoon nap, before running across the room and flinging herself at Madge's middle. "You came to play?"

Making as regretful an expression as she can, Madge shakes her head. "No, Posy, I came to help your mom get ready for Gale's birthday."

Posy thinks for a moment, frowning to herself, before she lights up again. "Oh, yeah." She grabs Madge's hand and pulls her towards the kitchen, past her mother. "We're gonna make him a cim-anon cake, right momma?"

Mrs. Hawthorne laughs lightly, following after them, nodding. "Yes, Posy. Daddy got us some spice just for it."

The little jar probably has less than a thimble's worth of cinnamon in it, but Gale's mother picks it up and looks at it lovingly, as if it were enough to make several cakes.

"Asher got me a little extra flour and some baking soda," she tells Madge as Posy pulls a chair over to the counter to watch. "It should be enough for at least a small cake."

Madge wishes they'd have let her bring some supplies. She could easily get flour and soda, even more cinnamon, for them, but they won't accept her help. No matter how much she wants to give it.

"You've already done enough," Mr. Hawthorne had told her, when she'd offered to bring a dessert for dinner one night, something she's done at least three times a week since Gale started going into the mines. "You gave Posy those dresses and Haymitch is getting Gale out of the mines. You don't need to overextend yourself."

Seeing as that's all she can do, Madge wants to. Her dresses would've gone to waste and Mr. Abernathy's help had been out of a selfish need, she wants to help them more, do nice things for them, without having to justify it.

For the next few hours, Madge 'helps' Mrs. Hawthorne, which mostly amounts to keeping Posy from dipping her fingers in the batter, setting the table, and watching the small cut of deer Gale and his father had killed a few days before cook on the stovetop.

"I can do more," Madge tells her. "I mean, I'm not a great cook, but I can do…something."

"You're doing more than enough," Mrs. Hawthorne says, smiling as Posy watches the cinnamon cake rise through the warm window of the oven. "I may not have finished without you here to watch Posy."

While Madge doubts that, she appreciates the sentiment.

Rory and Vick blow in, wet and cold and bursting with energy.

"We couldn't go out for recess," Vick explains as he pulls off his almost too small boots. "I sat with Maple Rosen and started reading that story about blackberries Mrs. Cherry assigned."

"It's a sad book," Madge warns him, remembering the story from when she was in Vick's year.

"That's boring," Rory butts in. "I was in detention and overheard Mr. Knott flirting with that new secretary. Albie says she'll be knocked up by Christmas." He gives Madge a serious look. "We have money riding on it."

Madge gives him an exasperated sigh as he struggles with his socks, both of which are soggy, water had leaked into the broken end of his toe.

"That's not a very nice thing to be making bets on."

He grins up at her. "Then I won't tell you about the bet I heard Chesney Shumard has about you and Gale."

Biting her lip, she'd dearly love to hear what horrible, gossipy thing Chesney had come up with, Madge ignores the bait and settles into the couch next to Vick to help him with his homework.

It's a history assignment, which is laughable. The schools in the Districts aren't allowed to teach anything truthful about anything, so a report is pretty pointless.

"History is written by the winners, Pearl," is what Mr. Abernathy had told her, back before everything had gone so terribly wrong, when they'd sat at the little table in her kitchen during a snowstorm and he'd helped her write her own history report. "Whether that history is true, doesn't matter."

Still, Vick's a good student, even if he doesn't believe even half of what he's being taught, and he happily flips through pages and makes notes.

Rory isn't quite as studious, tossing his backpack wildly into his bedroom and promptly forgetting about it, regardless of if there's homework to be done or not.

He plops next to Madge after getting himself a glass of water and bothering Posy for a few minutes.

"So, Madge, beautiful," Madge rolls her eyes at him, "have you finally seen the light and decided to drop Gale for, his smarter, much more handsome brother?"

"I'm a little young for her," Vick pipes in, earning a filthy look from Rory.

Sighing, Madge ignores him. Any sort of acknowledgment is enough to get him going and she doesn't want him to needle Gale when he gets home.

Posy, feeling left out, pads over, a ragged looking doll under each arm.

"Gale is much more handy-somer than you, Rory," she tells him, her nose wrinkled up.

Rory smirks. "Well, right now, yeah. He's hit puberty, but if I'm this good looking now, just imagine how amazing I'm going to look once my beard starts coming in." He gives Madge a disappointed look. "You should get your claws in me before my animal magnetism makes me too hot a commodity."

His confidence is nothing if not impressive.

Madge stifles a snort. "I guess I'll just have to live with the regret."

"Suit yourself. I'll just have to be the one that got away." He nods to himself. "Your great could've been while you're stuck with smelly, scruffy Gale."

"How will I survive?" Madge rolls her eyes again.

He consoles himself over what must number Madge's hundredth snub, by helping Vick look up facts in his battered textbook, and by the time the front door open and blast them with icy wet air, he's all but forgotten the conversation for the day.

Gale and his dad are almost identical in their mining uniforms. The crisp blue of Gale's brand new uniform has become dingy over the last month, fading to a well worn cool blue-gray that seems to make his olive tones even warmer, which is a blessing, his color had suffered for the first few weeks and Madge had worried he'd been getting ill.

"It's called being stuck in a hole for twelve hours," he'd muttered grumpily. "I haven't seen the sun in days two weeks."

Once he'd gotten acclimated to the work, the long hours and the harshness of the mines, he'd been able to go out to the woods with his dad on his second weekend, he was less testy and much more affectionate.

"Gale," Madge muttered as he kissed her in the shadow of her house one evening. "Watch your hands."

Because if Mr. Abernathy caught them with Gale's hands in those particular spots, holding a pick in the mines was going to be a lot more taxing.

He'd nodded, more than a little disappointed, but helped her straighten herself out before walking her to the porch and giving her one last, very chaste, kiss good night.

There has been no more talk of marriage, not from Mr. Abernathy, who seems to know Madge will argue him blue and refuse, and not from Gale, who finally seems to understand that there is no happy ending in their future, just the here and now.

"Happy Birthday, Gale!" Posy yells as she launches herself at her older brother, squealing with delight when he tosses her up in the air and catches her.

He passes her off to his dad, who promptly begins tickling her, while Gale gets bombarded by Vick and Rory.

"I found you these feathers for you," Vick says, presenting Gale with a small satchel filled with dozens of dully colored feathers. "For your arrows."

"I got you this." Rory holds up a length thread. It's not much, but it's still impressive. "To go with Vick's feathers."

"Where did you get that?" Mr. Hawthorne asks, his mouth turned down as he eyes the string warily.

"It's better if you don't know," Rory answers cryptically, putting the thread into the palm of Gale's outstretched hand.

His parents exchange a look, but don't question him further. It probably really is for the best they not know whatever shady dealings Rory is apparently involved in.

"Thanks," Gale says, a little warily, as he examines the feathers and then the thread.

Stuffing them into his pockets, he nudges Vick out of the way and latches his hand around Madge's wrist.

"I missed you," he murmurs before he dips in, kissing her with a little more force than she thinks is probably necessary, especially with his family watching. She doesn't care though. Every kiss, every touch they get, is precious.

Rory makes a low whistling noise and Posy giggles, and finally Gale lets her go.

She knows she's probably completely red, from effort and from the giggles coming from both Vick and Posy.

Mr. Hawthorne clears his throat, giving Madge a little wink, before herding the group to the table.

"Let's try this birthday dinner we've been looking forward to for the last week."

#######

Haymitch trudges through the soggy roads of the Seam, under the slate gray sky, then around the Town before cutting up to the Victors' Village.

By the time he reaches the backdoor his nose is running and the spittling of rain has made him uncomfortably damp. All he wants is a warm cup of coffee and a long soak in the tub.

The lights in the kitchen are on and he sees Matilda's shadow floating around inside, carrying what looks to be the kettle over to the table. He grins to himself. He'll take tea if that's what she's got made, no sense being picky.

Banging his feet loudly with each step up to the porch, he's gotten most of the wet muck off the bottoms of his shoes by the time he opens the door.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm taking the boots off," he yells in as he leans into the doorframe and quickly yanks his boots off, tossing them onto the little dirty rug she'd put out ages ago for the sole purpose of keeping Haymitch from dragging dirt across her clean floors.

He kicks the door closed as he pulls his long, heavy coat off and carefully hangs it up on the little hook, before turning around with a grin.

"Have me a cup of…"

His question dies in his mouth when he spots just who Matilda has actually been boiling water for.

Wiress is in her customary drab, narrow skirt, stiff looking button up shirt, and well-worn flat bottomed shoes, with her woolly looking coat draped over the back of the chair.

"Hello, Haymitch," she says, taking a small sip from one of Matilda's favorite cups, her face pulling back when she apparently finds it still too hot to drink.

For a second Haymitch is speechless, just stares at her, sitting in his kitchen, drinking his tea, with his Matilda.

"Will you be staying for dinner?" Matilda asks, smiling airily, as though Victors stop by on a regular basis.

When Wiress opens her mouth to answer, Haymitch cuts her off.

"No, she won't," he growls, crossing from his spot by the door to the table, putting himself between Wiress and Matilda. "She's leaving."

"But she only just got here," Matilda says, tilting her head and wide hazy eyes drifting between the two Victors. "You're being rude, Haymitch."

"Yes, Haymitch," Wiress smiles coolly, blowing on her tea. "Very rude."

Shooting Wiress a dark look, Haymitch turns his back to her, blocking her from Matilda's view.

"'Tilda, sweetheart," he begins softly, cupping her face in his hands and running his thumbs across her cheeks soothingly. "I need to talk to Wiress for a minute or two alone. Can you go wait in the living room?"

"Just because you aren't rude in front of me, doesn't mean I don't know you're being rude at all," she tells him softly, her nose wrinkling up. "We never get guests."

And for damn good reason. If all Haymitch's guest were as big a pain in the ass as Wiress, he'd rather never deal with another human so long as he lives.

"I won't be rude," he lies.

She gives him a disbelieving frown.

"I won't be too rude."

Matilda deflates a little, her wide eyes dropping as she sighs. "Best I can hope for I guess."

He grins and presses a kiss to her forehead, then to the tip of her nose before nudging her toward the living room.

Once she's safely away, hopefully she'll fall asleep on the couch and think Wiress' visit is just a bad dream, Haymitch turns back to Wiress.

"What do you want?"

Wiress surveys Haymitch over the top of her cup as she sips, eyes narrowed and dark.

"Can't a friend stop by for a drink?" She asks.

Haymitch snorts. "I don't have friends and neither do you."

She shrugs, unbothered by his dismissal.

Silence stretches between them, Haymitch glaring and Wiress drinking her tea with a smirk, as though she has all the time in the world.

"Wiress," Haymitch grinds her name out through gritted teeth. "Why are you here?"

She finally sets her teacup down, in the matching little saucer with pink roses that Haymitch had brought Matilda back for her birthday one year, before letting out a long breath.

"They're going to take our families," she says evenly, as though she's not said anything more interesting than point out it's cold and miserable outside.

Jaw tensing, Haymitch nods. "Just like you thought."

Her dark hair barely moves as she nods. "Just like I thought."

Why that was so important that she needed to spirit herself out to see him, ride in on her magic coach or however the hell she manages to show up out of the blue, he isn't sure. She'll probably be coming through with the Victory Tour in a few months, why not tell him then?

"You're little plan to marry the girl off isn't going to work," she tells him bluntly. "I'm glad at least she sees it's ridiculous."

"It could work," Haymitch snaps. It probably won't, but he has to try something.

Her eyebrows rise and her lips flatten out. "We aren't the type for fantasy, Haymitch. You can try, but you and I both know she's as good as Reaped, her and your poor, sweet 'Tilda."

Dragging his hand over his face, Haymitch glowers at her. He presses his tongue to his teeth and lets out a long breath before dropping into the seat across from her.

"You're awfully calm about that," he points out.

"I'm always calm," Wiress counters. "It's one of my more charming qualities."

One of her only good qualities, if you asked Haymitch. Charming, though? Not really.

"What's your plan, doll face."

Lip curling in distaste, Wiress folds her hand on the table, settling Haymitch in a steady gaze.

"There's no way out of it, we're all pretty sure of that," she begins. "That leaves us only one choice."

Curious, Haymitch's bushy eyebrows rise. "And that is?"

She straightens up and takes a deep breath. "Kill Snow."

For a stunned second Haymitch just stares at her, waiting for her to crack a smile or give him any hint she's joking, but it never comes. She's Wiress, after all, she never jokes and if she smiles at you it usually means she's about to make your life a living hell.

"Kill Snow," Haymitch finally repeats. "The president?"

"Do you know another Snow?" She asks impatiently.

Her ever steady eyes flicker to the doorway Haymitch had ushered Matilda out and then back to him.

"This is a matter of life or death, Haymitch, for your family, for mine, for all of ours." She licks her lips. "They know we're too smart for them and they want to break us, want to make us look weak and useless. The only way we're going to win this thing is if we strike first and strike hard."

"By killing President Snow?"

She's lost her marbles.

"Yes," she nods frantically. "It's the most practical, straightforward thing we can do."

A war, as they'd planned it, with their carefully crafted figurehead and the support of the Districts would take too long, and time isn't on their side.

"Besides," she shakes her head, "I've been doing the numbers, for a couple of years now, and the amount of deaths, civilian and otherwise, the damage that would be done to the infrastructure, would be catastrophic."

Killing Snow would leave a vacuum of power, but Wiress thinks that, and the ensuing chaos, would be preferable.

"We can control it; you know how easy it is to sway the people of the Capitol." She smiles faintly. "They're sheep and we're their favorite people. They trust us."

"They also use and abuse a good chunk of us, or have you forgotten what the end result of your work is?" He asks sharply.

"I haven't. If we took hold of the government, though, if we ran it, then we could put a stop to all of that, without the mess of a war. A quiet revolution."

He gives her an incredulous look. "Do you honestly think Snow's cronies are gonna let you walk in and take over after you kill him?"

Or at least try to kill him, because Haymitch can see the end of Wiress' plan, and it isn't favorable to any of the Victors.

Her lips twitch up into a dark smirk, undaunted by his concerns.

"Do you think I haven't taken that into consideration? That I haven't considered every possibility?" She jabs her finger into the table. "I've planned this down to the minute."

The air in the room gets thick with tension, the buzz of what may come to be fills it uncomfortably as Haymitch considers the mad woman across from him.

Finally, he picks up Matilda's teacup, swirls it, then brings it to his mouth and tips it in, downing it in one gulp.

"Let's hear it then, sweetheart, I have a kid to pick up in a few hours."

#######

Gale walks Madge out, grabbing her and pulling her to him the second the door closes behind him.

"I wish you didn't have to go," he murmurs, hot breath ghosting over the skin of her neck as he places frantic, open mouthed kisses along the curve of it.

She's too distracted to say anything, barely manages to get out a breathy noise of agreement, before he catches her mouth again.

Her hands weave through his hair, tugging at it as he presses her into the rough wood of the house to the left of the door, letting his fingers and palms roam under her coat, tugging up and untucking the end of her shirt from her skirt so that his warm hands can grip at the skin underneath.

"I wanted to get you a present," she finally says. "But I knew you wouldn't want anything."

"Mmm," he grunts, nosing the collar of her shirt out of the way and nipping at her collar bone. "Don't need anything. Just you.'

And if she weren't absolutely certain Mr. Abernathy was about to come up on them, dropping in like some kind of silent menace, she'd tell him she wants to go to the woods, down by the lake and the little cabin and spend the night. There's nothing she wants more than to spend her last few months completely with him.

He'd tell her she's being ridiculous, because it's his birthday and because he wouldn't let her buy something, and that her body and a night was way more than he needed.

Still, ache that washes over her everytime they kiss, each time he presses into her, with each touch that burns through her clothes, she hopes he lets her convince him that she's thought through her actions before their time runs out.

Right on cue, a throat clears and Gale's kisses come to a standstill.

They linger, sharing each other's breath, for a few seconds before Mr. Abernathy clears his throat again.

Face burning, Madge lets her hands drop from Gale's hair and he presses one last, soft kiss to her cheek before she steps around him and gives Mr. Abernathy a forced smile.

"Ready," she says with forced verve. The smile slips from her face, though, the minute she sees the grave expression he's wearing.

His mouth is a thin line, eyebrows knitted together, and the lines at the edges of his eyes are pinched together , and though part of it is probably to do with how Gale had been pressing into her, a little obscenely, there's something more to it.

"Mr. Abernathy, is something wrong?" Madge asks, jumping from the porch and grabbing onto his arm.

He blinks, gives her a sad little smile, then pats her arm, but doesn't say anything.

Panic starts to rise in Madge's stomach.

"Mr. Abernathy." He's scaring her.

Finally, his eyes refocus and he leans in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He smoothes out her hair, Gale had apparently messed it up, and his smile ticks up a little.

"Nothing's wrong, sweetheart," he tells her, his voice a bit raspy, as though he's been yelling. "Just thinking."

She gets the distinct impression whatever he's been thinking along isn't his normal line of 'castrate Gale', and for once, that worries her.

He takes her hand and grips it gently in his, then looks up to Gale, still watching warily from the porch.

"I need to talk to you and your dad," he says, sounding more like him, irritated and unhappy. "Tomorrow. Dinner."

Gale eyebrows pull together in a scowl. "Why?"

Mr. Abernathy rolls his eyes. "Because I've missed your charming personality, dickweed."

Madge shoots him an exasperated look and he shrugs.

"Fine." He schools his expression into one of deep reverence. "Gale, will you and your dad please come by tomorrow and have dinner with us. I need to discuss some things with you both. You should be able to guess what about."

Madge's stomach curls in on itself. He wants to talk to Gale about marriage again, she's sure of it.

What's spurred his sudden renewed interest in what she's assured him is a terrible and faulty plan, she isn't sure, but she's apparently going to have to get it out of him before dinner tomorrow night.

Gale apparently catches the hint too, his body stiffens and his eyes, which had been lazy with food, beer, and kissing, are suddenly sharp and alert.

He nods. "We'll be there."

"Seven," Mr. Abernathy grunts at him. Turning, he gives Madge a tug, away from Gale's family's home. "Let's get home, sweetheart. My bones are aching and your mother's got a pot of coffee on for me."

Pulling her coat a little tighter around her, Madge gives his hand a squeeze then jumps back up the steps and gives Gale one last kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She bounds off the porch, landing with a thud next to Mr. Abernathy and linking her arm with his, letting him lead her away, as worry eats her from the inside out.

Something has changed, and she needs to find out what.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.

Gale spends the entire night wondering just what Haymitch suddenly needs to talk to him about.

"Maybe he's figured out a way to save Madge," he wonders aloud, as he walks beside his dad to the mines in the cold damp morning, not really believing it.

His dad shakes his head. "You didn't describe a man that's got good news, son."

Flicker of hope squashed, Gale drags through the day, right up until lunch.

He'd already finished his jerky and was nibbling on the small remains of his birthday cake his mother had insisted he take, when the crew boss yells out for him.

"Hawthorne!" He'd pointed at Gale, to make it perfectly clear which 'Hawthorne' he wanted, then jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Get your ass up top!"

Confused and more than a little worried, Gale gathers the last of his lunch, a few crumbs from the cake, tidily into his lunch pail, before exchanging a wary look with his dad and heading down the tunnel and towards the elevators.

A bright, cold blue sky greets him, the first time he's seem daylight during the week in a month, as he shifts his pail under his arm and squints into the light.

There are a few men up top, hauling the coal up and crating it, preparing it for transport to the Capitol. Others are filling out papers, stamping the coal crates with the insignia of the Capitol, and helping to load them onto carts to be pushed and pulled by another group of men to the waiting train.

It's been pointed out that there are probably more efficient ways to do just about everything that goes on with the mines, but any efforts to improve things are met with hostility.

"They don't want it to get better," Jude had told Gale when he asked why. "We're dumb labor to them. The more like animals they can treat us, the better for them."

Watching the team of men struggling with the enormous cart of crates, looking down at his own hands, embedded with dirt and dust, broken nails and jagged cuts, Gale thinks Jude isn't wrong.

"Gale Hawthorne?"

A gangly man with Seam black hair, liberally streaked with silver and gray, wearing ill-fitting clothing and wire glasses, is staring at him, face pinched up as he waits for Gale's response.

Finally, Gale shakes himself out of his daze. "Yeah, that's me."

The man gives him a once over, apparently confused by who he's found, then holds out his hand.

"Amos Lane," he introduces himself with a reedy voice. "Foreman of the Geological Corps."

It's hard for Gale to imagine frail looking Amos ever being in the mines, though it is very easy to picture Haymitch strong arming him into letting Gale slip his application in late.

"Well, come along," he says suddenly, taking off toward the battered offices at the edge of the yard.

He's a lot quicker than he looks, but Gale easily catches up with a few long strides.

Without a word, Amos hops up the pair of rotting wooden steps and yanks open the flimsy little door, waving Gale in.

Ducking, Gale steps in and surveys the office.

It's a small, less than half the size of the room Gale shares with Rory and Vick, and cluttered from wall to wall, floor to ceiling.

Every wall is lined with filing cabinets, cheap and chipping metal ones, some of the drawers are bursting open with yellowing papers. Amos' desk looks like one of the cabinets regurgitated its contents onto it, though for all Gale can tell, there may not be a desk under the piles of papers at all.

"Sit," Amos commands, pointing at a chair so small and so ancient looking Gale isn't sure it'll support him.

Still, he sits.

Amos drops into the chair opposite Gale and stares at him over the piles on his desk.

"So, you're the boy Haymitch's girl is slumming it with?"

Heat floods Gale's face and he's too shocked by what Amos has just said to say anything. He can only stare at him darkly, trying to think of just the right thing to say about his slight against Madge.

Before he can spit out something, anything, and stomp off, to hell with the job, he isn't going to listen to this asshole insult Madge, Amos makes a grunting noise and begins shuffling papers, clearly catching the signs that he's said something to upset a man twice his size and much stronger.

Licking his lips, Amos' beady eyes fall to the mess on his desk, reaches out and scatters a few before picking up a sheet Gale recognizes. His own application.

"A few run-ins with Peacekeepers for underage drinking..." Amos shrugs. Almost everyone in the Seam has been harassed about drinking, whether they really had or not, it isn't an indication of anything. "...but you grades are more than sufficient. Exceeding expectations for your math and science classes, which are really the only ones we're worried about."

Amos is distractedly flipping through papers, then digging through the little drawer at the center of the desk, and misses the fleeting look of shock that crosses Gale's features.

His grades weren't bad, but certainly far from 'exceeding' any kind of expectations.

When his paperwork gets tossed aside during Amos' search, from his grumbling Gale gathers he's seeking out some kind of stamp, Gale leans forward slightly and cuts his eyes to the papers.

They look unextraordinary, smudged and worn looking, official even, but the grades, other than the miserable ones in literature and grammar, and his fairly good one in woodworking, have been altered. Someone had gone through four years of high school grades and adjusted them.

Finally, Amos finds his stamp and snatches the papers back from the desk.

"So, you think you'll add anything useful to the corps?"

Gale nods. "Yes, sir."

"Why didn't you turn your papers in before the deadline?"

Swallowing hard, Gale tries to keep his breathing steady. "Didn't figure I had much of a reason."

Plus, the odds weren't even remotely in his favor. Everyone knows the corps is tightly controlled. Sons follow fathers, the job passed down, and only a few men make the cut that don't have family ties. Trying is setting yourself up for failure.

"Until the girl?" He prompts. Not waiting for a response, he chuckles. "She's a pretty one. Lucky she only takes after her mother in looks. Although, pretty with an empty head might not be so bad, huh?"

He gives Gale a conspiratorial wink and an obnoxious smirk.

Irritation boils in Gale's gut. Madge's mother may not be exactly normal, but she definitely isn't empty headed. He'd dare the asshole to say that in front of Haymitch.

Before Gale can say something he'll regret, tell Amos where he can shove his job, two insults in less than ten minutes is more than Gale's self-control can handle, he's slamming the metal stamp down on them with a click, leaving red words across the top of Gale's file.

'Candidate'

"I was a bit worried," Amos begins, stacking the papers carefully. "Wasn't quite sure what Haymitch was shoving off on me. Figured he was just meddling with the girl's life." He coughs dryly, all over the papers in his hands, before looking back up and giving Gale an appraising look. "You don't seem to be as useless as I expected."

Too shocked to say anything, Gale nods again.

"Get back to work then," Amos tells him, waving his wrinkled hand dismissively. "You'll be called back up for secondary interviews next month. I wouldn't get too worried about it though."

Stunned and angry, Gale stands, ducks back outside, letting the thin metal door fall shut with a rattle behind him.

By the time he gets back to the elevator, down into the mine, he's fuming.

"Matilda's not exactly the brightest," he mutters to his dad as they chip away at the coal. "But she's not stupid. She's nice."

In her own weird way.

"There are different kinds of intelligence, Gale," his dad calmly tells him. "Matilda's got a pretty sharp memory from what I remember from school. Good grades, too. She was just always a little awkward."

Gale doesn't see how that gives people the right to pick on her, at least Madge's mother is a nice weird and not violent like some of the people that he's met. Drunks and hard luck cases that can't or won't control themselves.

He doesn't dare mention the 'slumming' comment. It'll only make him do something he'll regret.

Shaking his head and glaring at the handle of his pick, Gale forces Amos and the likelihood that he'll be saving Gale from a lifetime of backbreaking work, even though he's a pig and it turns Gale's stomach to accept his help, from his mind.

He's got Haymitch's cryptic meeting and Madge to worry about.

#######

Mr. Abernathy refused to tell her anything on the walk home, not when they were safely inside, not even after Madge changes into her pajamas.

"You're worrying me," she'd told him as she settled onto the couch and rested her cheek against his arm and peered up at him through her drizzle damp bangs. "Please tell me what's going on."

He'd held firm though and refused to utter so much as a syllable.

Madge almost went into her mother's room and woke her. She'd been home with Mr. Abernathy while Madge had been out; surely she knew what was going on.

The prospect of upsetting her mother, though, possibly having to sedate her when she'd gone to sleep, all on her own apparently, didn't sit well with Madge. She decided to wait until the morning. She'd catch her before Mr. Abernathy got up.

When she wakes, though, it's to the sound of clattering downstairs and the smell of bacon.

Since her mother is barely a wisp, hardly makes a sound, and never cooks without supervision, there's only one explanation.

Mr. Abernathy had anticipated her move, and cut it off.

Instead of getting up, Madge stays in bed, late into the morning, until he comes upstairs to check on her.

"Sick, Pearl?"

Madge grunts from under her comforter in the negative.

She feels the bed dip, a hand reach out and pull the blanket from over her head.

"Sulking isn't gonna do you any good," he tells her. The wrinkles on his face deepen as he frowns at her stubborn silence.

Finally, Madge sighs.

"Please, please tell me what's wrong. Whatever you're planning, I want to know before you tell Gale."

So she can come up with a proper excuse for him not to get pulled under more than he already has by Mr. Abernathy.

"It isn't me doing the planning, sweetheart."

Something about the wording, about the way he keeps his eyes down, tracing the quilting on her comforter, makes Madge even more uneasy.

If it isn't him doing the planning, then who is?

He must sense the question caught in her throat, because he smiles sadly and takes her hand, squeezing it gently.

"Listen close, Pearl, 'cause I'm not gonna repeat myself. No question. Just listen."

Nodding, Madge sits forward and crosses her legs and waits expectantly, hoping the knot in her stomach is wrong, and whatever he tells her puts her at ease.

She doubts it though.

#######

Asher follows Gale quietly up through the path up to the Victors' Village, feet sliding in the wet earth underfoot.

Water drips from the few remaining browned leaves still clinging to the tree branches, off and onto Asher's cap and down the back of his shirt, making the already cold evening seep icily into his skin. His bones hurt he's so cold.

It doesn't bother him, though, his mind is too consumed with whatever it is that Haymitch finds so important that he'd invite both Gale and himself up. There are only a few possibilities, and none of them are good.

When the only occupied house in the Victors' Village comes into view it's glowing. Yellow light burns warmly from the kitchen and the living room windows and the back porch light is pooling out into the yard.

Gale runs his hand through his hair and stares for a minute, a tense expression settling on his face. He hadn't said much since he'd been called out of the mine, since his rant about Amos Lane. Asher isn't sure if his quiet is from worry about the surely upcoming interview or from whatever shadowed thing Haymitch has planned for the night.

Taking a deep breath, Gale's feet start up again and Asher waits a beat before treading after him, across the damp yard and up the step before knocking solidly on the back door.

Madge answers. Her face is paler than usual, cheeks tinged pink and eyes a little raw to Asher's view.

"Have you been crying?" Gale asks immediately, his eyes widening as he takes in her worn look.

Her lips curve up, into a gentle smile, eye shining up at him. She reaches out and takes his hand, looks between the two men before sighing.

"No matter what they say, don't agree to anything without thinking about it first, okay? Promise me you'll think about it first," she tells them gravely.

Before Gale can ask her what she's talking about, Haymitch comes up behind her, looking just as worried and just as worn.

"Get in, letting all the heat out."

Stepping in behind Gale, Asher stops when his son grabs his arm.

"Take your boots off," he tells him quietly, pointing to a little rug to their left where what must be Haymitch's boots and Madge's much daintier looking shoes sit.

Following Gale's lead, Asher begins unlacing his boots and carefully sets them next to his son's before following him off the entry rug.

Madge is waiting by the stove, toying with the sleeve of her sweater, eyes focused and preoccupied with the tile at her feet.

Gale reaches out and covers her hand, stills it, and waits for her to look up at him.

Her eyes finally rise and her mouth opens to say something, but she's cut off again by Haymitch coming back from the living room.

Standing in the doorway from the kitchen to the living room, Haymitch stares at Gale and Asher for a minute before sighing and walking over to them.

"Look, whatever happens tonight, you can't talk about it to anyone, ever, alright? Not just for Madge and me, for yourself too. This is dangerous stuff-"

"What's going on, Haymitch?" Gale cuts him off. "This secretive shit is getting old real quick."

"If you'd keep your trap closed for five minutes, I'm trying to tell you," Haymitch snaps back. He runs a hand over his face before shooting Gale another dark look. "Just don't treat this like you treated my offer to help you with the corps. You'll get us all killed."

Asher is about to question that, it isn't just vaguely ominous, it's solid. Whatever Haymitch is about to involve them in is deadly and he isn't sure he wants any part in it.

He doesn't get to ask though, because Haymitch jerks his head back towards the living room and takes Madge by the shoulders.

"Come on, Pearl."

Exchanging increasingly anxious looks, Gale and Asher follow them through the doorway and into the living room.

It looks unextraordinary. There's a cozy looking fire burning happily in the fireplace and pictures of a woman and boy Asher recognizes as Haymitch's mother and brother, as well as several of Madge in her school uniform and with her mother, lined up along the mantle, smiling happily out at the room. A couple of overstuffed chairs sit invitingly as well as a worn, but still expensive and well cared for, couch, all facing towards the coffee table, away from the government issued television, which is hidden in the corner, ignored and unwanted.

It all looks in order, neat and clean and matching, except for one thing.

Perched on the couch, with a saucer in her lap and a delicate looking teacup up to her lips, is a woman.

Asher is certain he's never met her, but he gets the nagging feeling he knows her from somewhere.

She's thin, not a pinched kind, unhealthy and dying, but a natural kind, as if she has enough to eat but moves too much, a perpetual motion machine that burn off what she does consume and forgets to take in more when she should. Her clothes are clean and well tailored, narrow, dark skirt and a plain, stiff looking shirt buttoned all the way up and under her chin. Her dark hair is pulled back severely into a tight bun and her sharp, dark eyes scan over both Gale and Asher.

For a minute she just studies them, tilting her head and sipping her tea, before she finally sets the cup back in the saucer and places it on the table.

"Well, are you going to sit down, or stand there the whole evening?"

Haymitch blows out a long huff of air before nudging Madge forward. She shoots Gale a look over her shoulder, gestures with her head for him and Asher to come before she lets Haymitch guide her to the couch.

He keeps her close, makes her sit with him on the couch, placing himself between Madge and the woman.

After a few seconds, Gale carefully follows, dropping into one of the chairs and looking to his dad.

Asher eyes the woman, now smiling coolly, before crossing in front of the fire and taking up the second chair.

The woman picks up her teacup again, takes a final sip then glances at Haymitch.

"Well, since it's become glaringly obvious that Haymitch isn't going to introduce me, I'll do it myself." She sets her cup down and straightens her skirt. "My name is Wiress. I'm a Victor, if you haven't guessed."

Of course, Asher thinks. That's why he felt like he knew her. Victors, even ones from Games a lifetime ago, are on the television at least during the festivities. He's probably seen her face at least once a year his whole life.

"I'm here to propose a deal. One that will benefit everyone involved." She pauses, waiting for a response, and when none comes, she gives them another little chilly smile. "It won't be easy, though, and it will be dangerous. Possibly deadly."

Gale sits forward, elbows to knees, fixing her in a narrow look. "It's going to save Madge, though, right?"

Wiress' lips twitch. "Sharp boy. Yes, your cooperation will help all of our families, Mr. Hawthorne."

Madge's lips press together and Asher gets the impression she want to say something, but a look from Haymitch keeps her quiet.

A look of complete determination settles on Gale's face and he nods. "What's the plan?"

Something like victory, certainty, flickers in Wiress' eyes. Madge's life may depend on what she says and Gale is going to be an easy sell on whatever the plan is.

"We're going to kill Snow."

The way she says it makes it seem like it's as simple as a sell at the Hob. An easy assassination.

"How exactly do you plan on doing that, ma'am?" Asher asks, an edge of distrust in his voice.

Her thin eyebrows rise and she tilts her head. "I'm getting there, Mr. Hawthorne."

She stops and straightens her skirt again, adjusts herself on the cushion, then takes a deep breath.

"There are tunnels under the Capitol, the oldest part-where the Presidential Mansion is-like a subterranean tracker jacker nest from before Panem. Over the years we've found ways to get into those tunnels, discovered the weak spots in the structure. We know how to collapse it in on itself."

"Collapse the Mansion?" Gale asks, cutting Asher a disbelieving look.

Asher frowns across the table at her. "Why not-aren't there better ways to do it? Ways that don't involve destroying a building?"

The potential for loss of life is too great. Years in the mines have given Asher a good idea of just how bad a collapse can be. Even it is mostly President Snow and people like him, there are bound to be others, innocent collateral damage.

Wiress' eyebrows rise and she gives him an appraising look.

"It's a very calculated move, Mr. Hawthorne. We don't just want Snow dead, we need a show of power. We need to show the Districts and the Capitol we're clever enough to get right to those in charge's door and take them out." She lets out a long sigh. "Taking out the Mansion and everyone in it will not only take out the opposition's leader, it will prove to everyone that we aren't to be trifled with. We can fight and we can change the power structure, almost bloodlessly."

"You're saying there isn't another way to stop this?" A way not to become murderers themselves.

She closes her eyes, apparently overwhelmed with their hesitancy then opens them and fixes Asher in a scrutinizing look.

"I understand you're squeamish about this. The last revolt didn't end well-"

"The last revolt is why we're in this mess!" Madge almost yells, apparently unable to keep quiet anymore. She looks between Gale and Asher frantically. "This is insane. She's going to get more people killed than the Games ever could. It's not worth it, Gale."

While Asher is inclined to agree with her, there's almost no chance that whatever this woman has planned will work and it's only going to end with everyone involved and their families being very publicly executed, Gale looks determined.

"Taking the fight right to the Capitol would spare the Districts a lot of grief, right?" He asks, ignoring Madge's tearful looks.

"Exactly," Wiress nods. "The fighting would be at their doorstep, not ours. Plus, we'd simultaneously take out the communication for the military and take over the television waves, cutting off their ability to refute anything we say."

How she plans on accomplishing that, she doesn't say, but Asher gets the impression it wouldn't be hard for her.

"That doesn't mean the Peacekeepers won't start fighting in the Districts," Madge points out, glaring icily at Wiress.

"We're working on that, child," she answers simply. "It shouldn't be hard. Most of them are from District Two. All we have to do is redirect a few missile silos at the major quarries in their home District and I'm sure they'll settle down."

Again, the calm of her demeanor, as if the idea of threatening to kill hundreds, thousands, of innocent people doesn't bother her in the least strikes Asher. Her life must be a cold one to so easily dismiss the lives of others without so much as a hitch in her voice.

Madge challenges her again. Narrowing her eyes she asks, "And how do you know Snow will be killed in the building collapse? People can survive all sorts of things you know."

Wiress rewards that with a little chuckle. "Such a smart girl. You certainly do take after your father, don't you?"

There's more behind her words than what she's saying, Asher can sense that, but what that is he can't quite work out.

Haymitch shoots Wiress a dark look while she ignores him and carries on, apparently ready with an answer for Madge's question.

"We certainly wouldn't leave Snow's death to chance. He'll be killed before and removed for proper public display, proof he is dead."

It's pretty grisly to Asher, pretty Capitol, every inch of what she's saying. He supposes that makes sense though, Wiress has been wrapped up in the Capitol since she was a teenager, their ways are tangled up in her ways at this point.

"Then why destroy the building?" Asher asks again, trying to distract himself from the plan to kill Snow.

Wiress' look plainly tells him she ranks his intelligence somewhere below a slug.

"I've already told you, strategy. Just because we cut off the head doesn't mean there aren't more waiting to take over. They need to see how serious we are, what we're capable of. This will be a show of power and it will keep the Districts from suffering the full brunt and out of a possible war."

Gale nods, clearly sold on this insane plan. "Who's going to kill him?"

She chuckles. "There's a lottery for the pleasure, but in the end I think several of us will be sent in."

"Victors?" Asher asks.

Nodding, Wiress' eyes flick to the clock by the door, a tall, heavy looking monstrosity, ticking noisily.

"And now for why we're recruiting you," she begins, but Asher already knows what she's going to say.

"You need us for the explosives." Because they're miners. Charges are used to create mines and break up earth on a regular basis. Every District has their area of expertise, and since Twelve uses specialized explosives on a regular basis, something none of the other Districts can claim, they're the best choice.

"You're the only District with any knowledge of how to use explosives, in a nontheoretical sense," she agrees. "Other than Two, that is, but they aren't exactly trustworthy for the most part. We can determine placement, but set up and detonation would probably be best left to people who've actually done it. I need the two of you to come up with a list, men who can, who will, be willing to help us. Don't say anything to them yet, just come up with names. When I come back I'll have more details for you, if you accept the offer."

A cold dread fills Asher from his feet to his throat.

"If we fail," he begins quietly, "they'll do worse than kill our families, you know that right?"

Wiress' cool expression doesn't change.

"Then we must not fail, Mr. Hawthorne." With that she gets up and straightens her skirt. "I'll be back with the Victory Tour, and you can give me your answer then."

Though it doesn't seem like she's giving them much choice. Asher has the feeling Wiress rarely fails to get her way.

"How exactly do you plan on sneaking all the explosives you need to the Capitol? Even if you plan on steeling them from Two, that's not going to go unnoticed," Madge asks, still trying desperately to poke holes in the woman's plan.

For a moment Wiress ignores her, focuses on her coat and gloves, then, as she's winding the scarf around her neck, she turns and smiles.

"Now child, if I can get myself from Three all the way out to Twelve without a soul noticing, what makes you think I can't steal a little explosives?" Her eyes cut to Gale. "But if you really must know, ask your boyfriend what his grades in geometry were. I think he'll have a hard time answering thanks to me and I think you're clever enough to figure it out from there."

Asher frowns and turns to his son to ask what she's talking about, but Gale is already standing, gaping at the woman.

"You changed them," he says accusingly. "How? Why?"

"I know a very clever girl who is very good at altering documents, and a friend asked me for a favor," she answers simply. "I'll see you in a few months."

With that and a quick nod to Haymitch, she turns on her heels and goes to the door, opens it and steps out without a word.

#######

Madge feels hot tears building up behind her eyes as the cold wind blows in with Wiress' exit.

She's never hated a person so soon after meeting them, but she's certain that the burning feeling building in her chest is just that.

Wiress is a monster who is going to try to play on Gale's fear to get him and his dad to help her with her plan, and it's going to get them and everyone they love killed.

"Don't do this, Gale," she says the moment the door clicks shut.

This plan is doomed, it's insane and destined for failure, and she doesn't want Gale anywhere near it.

"It could work," he says, almost as if he doesn't hear her. "If she really does have tunnels under it, then we could take out the Mansion. We could get to Snow."

And just like Wiress said, that will show everyone, Capitol and District, that the Victors aren't to be trifled with. The Mansion is a symbol of the Capitol's wealth and power, destroying it would show everyone that the Capitol isn't unstoppable, there are limitations to their power and those limitations can be exploited.

If it works.

"It's dangerous," Mr. Hawthorne finally says. "We have to think of your mother and the kids."

Madge nods emphatically. At least Gale's dad is seeing reason.

"I am," Gale practically growls. "If we take out the Capitol's power structure that will save the kids. Rory and Vick and Posy someday. They'll never have their names in the Reaping bowl; they'll never have to worry about being sent to the Games-"

"At the risk of losing you and your dad, Gale," Madge cuts in. "This plan, it has a very low chance of success-"

"-but a high payout." He crosses his arms over his chest and looks between Madge and his dad, who has stood and is watching Gale warily. "It's a payout worth the gamble."

Shaking her head, Madge bites her lip and looks to Mr. Abernathy.

He isn't going to talk Gale out of this, she knows that. This is another wild grasp at saving Madge and her mother and he isn't going to give it up, he wouldn't have brought them in on it if that were even the remotest of possibilities.

That doesn't mean Madge can't beg him to change his mind.

"Please," she whispers, holding onto his hand and pleading with her eyes. "You know this is useless. Don't sacrifice more people."

Not Gale. Not his family.

"This whole District will be punished if they help and this fails."

Just like Thirteen. The actions of a few will be revisited on the many. Twelve will be wiped off the map before the traitors are even executed, an insult to injury.

Mr. Hawthorne's color, which had faded throughout the conversation with Wiress, pales further.

"Gale," his voice cuts through the quiet of the room, "we can't do this. The risk is too much."

For a minute Gale just stares at his dad before looking to Madge. He seems to be debating something, fighting a battle in his head, for several long seconds before coming to a decision.

"Marriage isn't going to work and running away isn't going to work, this-" he gestures to the door "-lady's plan is the best shot we have. We just have to play it right."

There's a fire, low and dangerous, behind Gale's eyes.

He hates the Capitol, for what it's done to the District, his family, to Madge, and this is something solid he can do. A way to fight back.

No matter what Madge says, what his dad says, Gale has made his decision.

"Wiress is smart," Mr. Abernathy finally says. "Crazy, but smart."

"She changed my grades," Gale says again.

Mr. Abernathy nods. "She's good at what she does, all kinds of tricks up her sleeves, and she's determined. Her family is on the line, too. I haven't seen her fail yet, but there's always a first time for everything."

It's the closest Madge is going to get him to telling Gale not to do this, to enjoy the time he and Madge have left and let history and the Quell take their natural course, but she wishes he would warn Gale off more. This is a terrible idea and she knows where it'll end.

"We'll come up with names," Mr. Hawthorne says, cautiously, unenthusiastically. "Then we'll see what this plan of hers really looks like, alright?"

He's hoping to talk some sense into his son, Madge can see that, but Gale apparently can't. He's already nodding eagerly.

"Yeah, I think Thom, Bristel's dad, and Jude should be on the list."

The wheels are already turning in Gale's head, planning for the takedown of President Snow and the Capitol, and it terrifies Madge.

Disaster is brewing, she can sense it, and there doesn't seem to be anything she can do about it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.

The longer Asher thinks about the plan, all the danger it entails and lives it can, probably will, destroy, the less he likes it.

Hazelle hates it too.

"We have to talk him out of it," she'd said, more to herself than to him when he'd first told her about the meeting with Wiress. "Gale can't do this, Ash. Madge is a sweet girl, and I love her dearly, but I won't sacrifice my children for her."

She'd looked a little disgusted with herself for that, and Asher understands the sentiment. He hates himself for shying from helping. Madge's position is, at least in part, his doing. She'd be safe and sound, protected from the Capitol's manipulations, or at least this twisted Game, if she weren't under Haymitch's care. That's Asher's fault, and he knows it.

Hazelle is right though, he can't make amends for her life with the lives of his children. It simply isn't a deal he's willing to make.

It doesn't seem like he's going to get a choice, though. Gale is determined to do this, no matter his parents' feelings on the matter.

"The payoff is worth the risk," has been his constant mantra.

Saving Madge is saving Rory and Vick and Posy in Gale's mind, even if saving her could also potentially be signing their death certificates, as well as everyone else's they know.

In the end, Asher knows he's going to have to go along with it. Even if it's a suicide mission, he can't let his son fight this battle on his own. They'll go marching to their doom together, because even if it's going to be the death of them and everyone they know, he can't let Gale take on that burden alone. Asher set this in motion years ago, and now he's got to take responsibility for his actions.

"I want to know how she plans on getting us to the Capitol, and when," Gale wonders aloud, but quietly, as they toil away in the mines. "I wish I knew more of the strategy than just kill Snow and take out the mansion. There's too much Capitol bullshit in this thing, makes it hard to know what's really going on."

Asher thinks so too. He wants to know more of the plan as well, if only so that he can make his own contingency plans for this disaster.

"Madge doesn't know, or if she does she won't say," Gale adds, grumbling darkly.

Madge probably doesn't know anything. If she did she'd be telling Gale, even if only to point out the flaws.

If anyone is more against this plan than Hazelle, it's Madge.

"She's bound and determined to change my mind," Gale had complained. "I'm trying to save her life and she's having crying tantrums."

While Asher hopes Gale has enough sense to have never called Madge's crying a 'tantrum' to her face, he gets the impression one night, when Gale comes home grumbling about 'hormones', that his son isn't particularly sensitive to that particular thing. Probably why he's never had a long term relationship, Asher things dimly.

Madge has told Asher and Hazelle that she doesn't want Gale to have any part in this doomed plan. More than once, she's come to Hazelle in tears, trying to think of a way to stop him.

"There's got to be something we can say to him. Something to change his mind."

So far though, they haven't managed to sway him.

No number of stories about the kids suffering for his actions, the District being wiped out for the insolence of a few, the painful future that surely awaits everyone he's ever met, seem to sway him though.

"Have you ever thought about respecting her wishes?" Asher finally asks, when Gale continues to speculate and grumble after the work whistle blows.

Madge's concern for Gale, her efforts to keep him from getting himself and everyone else killed, is the only way Asher sees out of the dilemma his past actions have created. Gale listening to her, letting her talk him into letting her face her fate, is his best chance at something close to a pardon from this death sentence, not just for himself, but for his entire family.

"I can't sit at home and watch them murder her on television, dad," Gale says as they walk home from the mines. He runs his hand over his face and sighs, looking out at the sinking sun. "You couldn't do that with mom, could you?"

As much as Asher would like to tell him, no, but it's different, that Hazelle is his wife, the mother of his children, at one point the only bright spot in his life, he can't. Once upon a time Hazelle had just been his girlfriend, like Madge is to Gale now, and even then he'd have walked into hell and back for her. He can't lie to his son.

So with a sigh and a half glance around, to make sure no one is listening, he gives Gale a little smile.

"Not a chance."

He's in this with his son, for better or worse. No matter how little he likes it.

#######

Amos Lane catches Gale as he's leaving one evening.

"We'll be announcing the men chosen for the corps before the Victory Tour rolls in," he says as he rubs at a smudge of what looks to be ink on his cheek. He grins, a little knowingly at Gale and explains, "Gives the chosen few a little more to celebrate during the festivities."

Gale almost snaps that the last thing he feels like thinking about is the stupid corps, that there are lives on the line, lives worth a thousand of his, but he just nods curtly and thanks the slime ball. It at least gives him something not upsetting to talk to Madge about.

He's outright stopped asking her about the plan. It doesn't get him any answers, assuming she has any, and it just makes her cry which in turn makes him uncomfortable.

"Gale, please, please," she'd sobbed, nose running and eyes pink and bright, red rimmed and puffy. "Don't do this. It's a disaster waiting to happen. She's completely insane and she doesn't care what happens to anyone else. You're just a piece in the game to her and a weak one at that."

While he doesn't doubt that, Wiress is cold and calculating and he gets the impression she'd as soon gut him as help him, he's not stupid. She's got the access, she's got the inside track, and he needs that for his own purposes. It's the only way to save Madge and her mother and he's got to grab onto it with both hands and hold on.

"So the announcement will be soon then," his dad says with a nod. "That's good."

Gale shrugs, grunts something affirmative and stuffs his hands into his pockets as he repositions his lunch pail under his arm and trudges on. The announcement won't make a difference to him. His mind won't be able to focus on the work after the new year when he'll be expected to start, all his energy and thoughts will be on Madge and how he's going to save her. Assuming Wiress comes through on her promise to get in touch with them when the Victory Tour rolls through.

"Going up to the Village?" His dad asks as they come up on one of the hidden paths to the Victors' Village when it becomes clear Gale isn't going to continue discussing his nonexistent future.

Gale nods. It's one of his 'Madge nights', after all. Even if she's still upset with him, it's the single best part of his day, seeing her rubbed, red nose and hearing her tear-thick voice.

And even if she's angry with him, if he missed a promised day she'd end up down in the Seam, terrified and banging on his parents' door and crying harder than usual. He's already wearing her thin with his agreeing to be part of the plan to save her life, he's been trying not to add to it if he can help it.

His dad pats him on the back, gives him a tired smile, then heads off towards home as Gale cuts into the trees.

Body sore from the day's work, Gale slowly makes his way through the underbrush, stepping into a few soggy spots and splashing mud and damp leaves onto his legs, halfway to his knees. It makes the already frigid day even more unbearable.

When the Victors' Village comes into view, one lonely house pouring golden light out onto the lawn, Gale takes a deep breath.

Haymitch has a fire started. The air is thick with the pleasant smell of warmly burning wood, keeping the living room comfortable and cozy. Matilda has probably roasted some marshmallows, something Gale had no experience with until she'd pressed one, smashed messily between some crunchy graham crackers with a flat chunk of chocolate, into his hands a few weeks ago.

"Are you and Madge fighting, dear?" She'd asked airily, fixing him in her hazy gaze.

It made Gale a little uncomfortable. It wasn't his place to explain to her that her life and Madge's were in very real danger and that Madge is angry because of Gale's agreeing to help save them. That explanation needs to come from Haymitch or Madge, not Gale.

"Just a little disagreement."

She'd nodded, still holding him in a narrow, if somewhat fuzzy, look.

"You're a good boy, Gale," she smiled vacantly. "Madge loves you so much. I'm glad she has you."

His heart had twisted up at that, imagining Amos Lane calling her 'empty headed'. She wasn't brilliant, not like Madge, but she was sweet. That counted for something, at least in Gale's mind.

Thinking about the possibility of sweets and Madge's mother from his mind, Gale tramples through a few more puddles and up the back steps.

Before he can even knock, the door flies open and Madge grabs him, pulling him in and onto the rug.

His heart does a little stutter and he instantly worries she's going to try something stupid…again.

About a week earlier she'd met him at the back door, in almost the exact same way, with her robe pulled tightly around her.

"My mom and Mr. Abernathy are at dinner in Town," she'd quickly said before opening her robe.

Under it she was practically naked. A matching bra and panties, peach and perfectly pushing her breasts up and temporarily silencing any and all questions that had formed in his mind.

She'd almost lunged at him, thrown her arms around him and smudged coal dust on her front, and begun kissing him, pulling him with her toward the living room and the stairs up to her bedroom.

Despite the ferocity of her lips, the forcefulness of her hands as they pulled him toward the living room, there was a tremor in her. She was shaking.

"Madge," he'd managed to say her name between kisses, finally taking her by the shoulders and forcing her to stop and look at him. "What are you doing?"

Her breath had been shaky, shallow, and she'd forced an unsteady smile for him.

"I just want to-don't you want to-you know...don't you want me?" She'd turned a vibrant shade of red and looked down at her bare feet.

"Uh…" Gale had never been more speechless than he had been at that moment. Of course he wanted her, and if he looked down at her for too long she'd be able to see just how much he wanted her.

She'd reached up with a shaky hand and gently run her fingertips over the stubble forming on his cheek.

"We can-um-you know-as a, um, you know…" she'd bitten her lip and looked up at him through her bangs, "...a trade?"

That had deflated Gale quite a lot and caused anger to flare up in his stomach.

"I'm not letting you trade sex to keep me from helping you," he'd snapped, his voice a little sharper than he'd intended.

It had hurt, that she'd think he'd be willing to use her and let her go, that she could manipulate him like that. Her body wasn't a bartering chip, he didn't want it like that, no matter what anyone thought.

At his tone, her eyes had widened and filled with tears that had quickly spilled down her cheeks and onto that aggravatingly wonderful bra as her face had crumpled and she'd reached out blindly for him. "Gale…"

He'd started to storm out, yanking his arm from her grasp and letting her trail after him as he'd stomped out of the kitchen and through the back door, leaving her calling after him through her tears.

Once he'd gotten to the tree line his feet had turned to lead.

She hadn't meant anything by it, at least not anything insulting. She was scared, terrified for him, and she was grasping at even the remotest way to keep him safe, just like he was doing for her.

He supposes if the tables were turned and she were putting her life on the line for him, he'd be just as desperate, do something equally as stupid.

Swallowing down bile and anger, he'd turned back to the house, slowly walked back up to the porch, taking each step with deliberate concentration, focusing on Madge and the fear she was struggling with that had made her do something so painfully desperate.

When he pushed the back door open he'd found her collapsed in front of the door, a puddle of tears and snot, her face buried in the sleeves of her robe as she sobbed.

Dropping down, Gale had taken her face in his hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"It's not going to be like this, Madge." He frowned deeply. "I'm not like that."

He'd hoped she'd know that he wasn't that kind of guy.

"I know," she blubbered, wiping her nose on her sleeve again. "I know, Gale. I ju-just-I'm so scared and I d-di-didn't know what else to do. I just-I thought if we-you know-then you'd listen to me…"

Pulling her into his lap, he'd righted the shoulders and wrapped her robe tightly around her, despite an immature voice in the back of his head telling him that looking was probably alright, and rocked her, rubbing soothing circles on her back as she cried herself out, again, on his shoulder.

Once she was through, only a few hiccups punctuating the silence of the kitchen, Gale had made her look at him.

"Madge," he'd smoothed out her hair where she'd obviously tugged at it after he'd stormed out. "I love you. I'm not going to trade for sex with you."

She'd nodded and pressed her fingers to her eyes. "I know. I just...panicked. You won't listen to reason and I thought…"

"You thought you could bribe me with," he'd gestured toward her robe with a frown.

Nodding, her face deepening a shade or two, she'd pulled the front of her robe a little tighter to her.

"You're nuts," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. "But you're my nut."

She's devious, he realized, and he decided to keep a tighter watch on her after that little episode.

He'd made her get up after that, if Haymitch had caught them sitting on the kitchen floor, Madge less than half dressed and clearly finishing a good hard cry, Gale wouldn't have the option to keep her from being dragged off to the Capitol. Haymitch would have him dead and buried under Matilda's garden before the sun came up the next morning.

She's been calmer since then. The crying has lessened and she hasn't begged him to change his mind. The change in her demeanor has had him more than a little worried.

Today, she's dressed in one of her winter skirts, simple, with long sleeves and a high neck. Seduction isn't on the table then.

Unlike that day, she's not shaking, there isn't so much as a tremor in her hand as she pulls Gale over to the table as he struggles to kick off his boot before he tracks coal dust and fall debris onto her mother's floor.

"I have a plan," she says as they reach the table and she drops into one of the chair, releasing Gale from her vice-like grip and letting him finally get his boots off, throwing them back to the mat, then pull off his coat.

"A plan?" He asks, frowning as he leans over her back, bracing his hand on the table and squinting down at the papers she neatly stacked in front of her.

She nods, her eyes flicking up to him before she begins shuffling the papers.

"If I can't stop you then I can help, I guess, right?" Her nose scrunches up and she nods to herself. "I-This plan of Wiress' is leaving the District open to too much danger. We have to do something to protect everyone that's going to be left behind, your family included."

With a sigh, she spread the papers out.

There are diagrams, maps, and carefully handwritten notes in the margins of sketches that Madge glares at.

"The Capitol might still have enough time to strike back, and we're going to be their first target. We're small and weak and not nearly as important as a lot of the other Districts. We need to figure out how to get everyone evacuated, preferably the moment everything goes down in the Capitol."

Flopping into the chair next to her, Gale pulls one of the maps towards him.

It's of the District, she's added little dots of color with her pens to sections of the fence, labeling them 'weak spots' or 'exits'. He picks up another. It's ancient, probably from the beginning of Panem, badly drawn, approximating the landmarks of the wilds. It isn't wholly inaccurate, but then, it isn't exactly correct either.

"This is the main housing unit for the District's electricity," Madge tells him, pushing a diagram towards him. "I just need to read up on wiring, or circuits, and electricity a little more, and maybe I can get the power for the entire District down."

Gale doesn't point out that she'll be in the Capitol by the time they'll need the electricity down, she's trying to help as best she can and he isn't about to burst her bubble with reality.

"Are you planning on getting everyone into the woods?" He asks. "Didn't you already decide that running away isn't an option? They'll find an entire District a hell of a lot easier than a few people, you know?"

Lip puckering, she nods. "I know, but I think that with everything going on in the Capitol they'll be too busy. I'm banking on them only focusing on destroying the District, not going in after the people specifically."

That makes no sense to him, but he continues to stay quiet.

"Once everyone sees what's happening in the Capitol, if everything goes even close to plan, the Districts will start rebelling. They won't have time to mess with Twelve's missing population." She sighs. "And if things don't go according to plan, then they'll be focused on the photo ops they can get from the smoldering remains, not chasing down everyone, at least not initially. They'll be too busy with…"

Her eyes start to water and she takes a shuddering breath. "They'll be too busy with the instigators."

The instigators. Gale and whoever else he manages to drag into the Capitol with him.

"They won't be busy with us," he assures her, taking her hand and wrapping it in his. "This is going to work."

Wiping her eyes with her free hand, Madge nods. "I hope so."

Gale leans towards her and kisses her cheek, tasting some of the tears that have managed to leak out the corners of her eyes. "It will."

He won't accept anything but success.

Sitting back, he studies the diagrams again, trying to figure out how to tell her that to carry out her plan, she'll have to recruit more people and teach them how to cut electricity to the entire District and take down a fence, assuming she can figure out those things herself, but he can't. This is constructive for her, and she's needed something to keep her mind steady since the meeting with Wiress. It's better than crying and her last plan, he supposes.

"Have you talked about this with Haymitch?" He finally asks.

She shakes her head. "No, I want it to be perfect. Nothing he can pick apart."

Because she knows as much as Gale does that Haymitch is going to try to as far from this mess as he can. He probably won't even want her making plans for other people. Still, she might be able to convince the old bastard to give her some help if she cries enough.

Wincing, Gale sits forward and rests his elbows on the scrubbed surface of the table. He hates to be the one to tell her, but he wants to help her, and this is the best way how. "Well then, I guess I should point out that you're going to need help for all this, since, you know…"

… you won't be here.

He can't bring himself to say it, but she seems to hear his unspoken words.

"Yeah, I know." Her expression dims a little more and she frowns over at him. "You're getting your recruits, and I'm going to get mine."

A little smile tugs at the edges of his lip. There's his clever girl. He's missed her.

"And who exactly are you recruiting?"

His smile starts to infect her and she gives him the smallest twitch of her lips.

"Katniss and Peeta."

#######

Gale is supportive of her little endeavor, which is both surprising and unsurprising.

She'd expected a little resistance at least, he's overprotective to a fault, and her jumping feet first into the murky world of rebellion isn't a safe path to chose. On the other hand, he's probably relieved that she's stopped arguing with him, working against him, coming up with completely ridiculous ways to manipulate him into changing his mind. This is a positive move for her, the first one she's done since the meeting, and he seems grateful for it.

Once she finishes explaining that she needs to check out even more books from the library, which will probably annoy Ms. Poteau, leaving out that she hasn't really understood much of what she's read in the one's she has at this point, he shuffles through her notes and points out places along the fence where it would be easiest to move large groups of people through.

"My other problem is going to be convincing people to listen when Katniss and Peeta tell them it's time to leave."

"Convincing Katniss will probably be good practice," Gale says, his eyes never leaving the complicated diagram of a circuit Madge had carefully copied out of one of her library books. "She's not going to be an easy sell."

"Aren't you asking her dad to help with...you know?" Madge asks, chewing her lip. She'd thought that if Katniss' father got on board with Gale that Katniss would easily follow.

He nods. "That doesn't mean he's going to say yes."

That's true. Considering how things had turned out the last time Mr. Everdeen had been involved in something working against the government, he may be more than a bit hesitant to dip his toes into another attempt.

Still, Madge thinks that if Katniss' father's name ends up on Gale's list, Wiress will make sure he's part of her plan. She isn't the kind of woman to take 'no' for an answer from what Mr. Abernathy has told her.

"I'll see what happens then," Madge finally sighs, tucking a wild strand of hair behind her ear. "All else fails, Peeta will help."

Peeta is reliable, he's loyal, and he's selfless. There's no way he'll tell her no, even if he should.

On top of all that, he'd convincing. If anyone can get the entire District on their feet and ready to leave, it's Peeta Mellark.

Gale drops back, rubbing his hands over his face and nodding. After a few seconds, he spreads his fingers and peaks out at her, his dark hair falling in his eyes.

"Amos Lane caught me today," he begins, a little grin pushing the apples of his cheeks up. "Said they'll have the list of men picked for the corps out before the Victory Tour."

He doesn't actually care, Madge knows that. He's told her more than once that he thinks Amos Lane is a parasite and that his priority isn't the corps at the moment, but on her, but he knows it gets her mind off things for a moment. It's a future they'll never have, but one they could've had, and the fantasy of it calms her.

His hands drop and his dimples deepen as he grins over at her. "Made it sound like a sure thing."

"So I may get to hang out with a member of the geology corps at the Harvest Festival?" Madge stands and takes a few steps around his chair, wrapping him in a hug from behind and kissing his hair, which smells of sweat and smoke and cold air. "How exciting."

Lightening quick, his arm wraps around her middle and yanks her into his lap, causing her to squeak in surprise.

"It is exciting," he mutters into her neck as he nips at the skin under her ear. "Seeing the look on Thom's face is gonna be great."

Madge snorts. Of course. The world is essentially falling apart and he's still looking forward to irritating his friend with his good fortune. It's a little annoying, but wholly comforting.

The rough skin of his fingers start to skim across the patch of skin where her shirt has pulled from the top of her skirt, when he freezes.

"Where's your mom and Haymitch?"

Leaning back, Madge gives him a calm smile.

"Dinner."

Mr. Abernathy has been taking her mother out to dinner at the lone restaurant in Twelve, at least once a week since the meeting with Wiress. Part of it, she thinks, is him trying to squeeze in as many nice things for her as possible before the Quarter Quell announcement. He's offered to take Madge as well, but she always has to turn him down.

"It's Gale's night to come out," she has to point out each and every time.

Invariably, he rolls his eyes and shoots Madge's mother a suspicious look. "Of course it is."

Then he usually stomps off, complaining that 'nobody tells him anything'.

Which is a little true.

Madge's mother seems to specifically pick days that Gale will be coming over for her and Mr. Abernathy's dinners. When Madge had asked whether she was doing it on purpose, though, her mother had simply smiled.

"Why would I do that, love?"

If Mr. Abernathy is to be believed, it's because she's devious, but Madge decides that it has to do with her mother being a hopeless romantic.

She's helping Madge get at least one evening with Gale away from both their families, and Madge is grateful for it.

Gale lets out a long, relieved breath and chuckles. "Good."

"We have a few hours," Madge says, standing and pulling him from his seat and towards the living room, toasty from the fire Mr. Abernathy had started before heading out to dinner. "My mom left marshmallows and chocolate."

Grinning, Gale swiftly catches her and hoists her up and against his chest, letting her legs dangle over his arm as he carries her out of the kitchen.

"Let's toast them, then."

#######

Matilda is dragging her feet, Haymitch knows that, trying to buy Madge and that boy more time.

"It's such a pretty night out," she says through chattering teeth as she blinks up into the inky sky, at the stars peeking out from behind the wisps of gray clouds.

"It's cold as hell," Haymitch points out irritably.

Her nose wrinkles up as her eyes fall from the sky and settle hazily on him.

"In the summer you say it's 'hot as hell'," she says. "Is hell hot or is it cold?"

Trying not to roll his eyes, Haymitch takes his hand out of his pocket and reaches out, taking her icy fingers in his and tugging her along. "It's only an expression, sweetheart. There is no hell."

Or if there is, he's pretty sure they're there already.

Matilda frowns as she considers his words, letting him tug her along quietly, sidestepping a few puddles of murky water as he does, then she sighs. "Oh."

They trudge along for a few minutes before she deliberately slows again, stopping to stare behind her at the Town below with Haymitch's hand still tightly clamped in hers.

"'Tilda, come on." He's cold and his full belly is making him tired. All he wants is to go home, have a nightcap, and go to bed, not stare at the dim lights behind him.

When she doesn't budge, he sighs and reaches out with his free hand, running tips of his fingers over the exposed bit of skin on her neck, just below the rim of her woolly hat, causing her to shiver.

"Stop that, Haymitch."

"Then come on." He glares at the back of her head. Taking a step towards her, he leans in, his lips just behind her ears, blowing hot breath and rustling wild strands of hair dangling free from under her hat into her face. "I know what you're doing."

She shivers again and turns, her expression perfectly innocent. "What?"

He narrows his eyes and drops her hand, crosses his arms over his chest, huffing. "You're wasting time to give that little bastard time to do who knows what with Madge."

Probably defiling her as they speak. Pervert.

Matilda blinks, smiles lazily. "You like Gale."

Haymitch would 'like' to castrate Gale, but since he needs the little nuisance, he can't. "He's useful."

For now, anyways.

"He's sweet."

No boy, in the history of Panem or before, has ever been sweet, Haymitch is ninety-nine percent sure of that. He is a boy, he should know.

"He's a dick."

"You think all boys are dicks," she laughs lightly.

"They are."

"Are you?"

"You know it."

She smiles airily at him for a moment before sighing and crossing her own arms, running her hands up and down her the thick sleeves of her coat to build up warmth.

With a huff, Haymitch reaches out and pulls her to him, wrapping her in a hug as he steers her toward the Victors' Village.

"Haymitch?"

"Hn?" He grunts, his nose buried in the scratchy material of her hat.

"Are you and Madge going to tell me what your friend wanted?"

She tries to make him stop, but he manages to keep her moving as he considers her question.

He and Madge had decided that it was for the best to keep Wiress' information about the Quell quiet until it becomes unavoidable. The less time Matilda has to dwell on what may, what probably will, come to pass, the better. There's no reason to ruin the last few months of peace she has with worry over something that's seemingly unavoidable.

"It's going to be bad enough building up to the Reaping," Haymitch had reasoned, imagining Matilda's headaches getting worse and her time in a morphling daze increasing. "Let's just let her have the next few months, what do you say, Pearl?"

Madge had simply nodded sadly, fighting off tears as she did.

"It's bad, isn't it?" Matilda asks again.

The house is in view, but Haymitch stops and cups her warm cheeks in his cold hands.

"It isn't anything to worry about yet, sweetheart," he reassures her, leaning in and kissing her forehead.

A sad smile flicks up at the edges of her lips. "You wouldn't tell me if it were though, would you?"

People don't think she knows just what they think of her, that she can't handle things, but she does. It hurts that he and Madge are being lumped in with everyone that have so little faith in her.

The truth of the matter is, though, that Matilda has a lot of strength, just not the kind she needs when they tell her she's going to face the same fate as her sister. She needs a little protecting, and she knows that, even if she hates it.

"I'll tell you when the time is right," he tells her, letting his forehead rest against hers.

"I wish that were now," she whispers, her eyes getting glassy.

Pulling her tight against him, Haymitch lets his chin settle on the top of her head. "I know you do."

The cold settles around them, the smell of the fireplace giving the air a little texture, for a few minutes before Haymitch remembers that Madge is waiting at home.

"Let's get a move on."

She nods into his chest, letting out a warm sigh that ghosts through the front of his shirt before she lets him tug her towards the house.

#######

As soon as Gale hears the latch on the front door click, he jerks away from Madge.

Not that they'd been doing anything, just eating melting marshmallows and chocolate, a treat if there ever was, and studying Madge's books over breakers and circuits. They'd been a little close, very close though, and Gale had been smearing sticky marshmallow and chocolate on Madge's lips with his fingers when she'd been too preoccupied with her papers to notice, and then kissing away the evidence.

He doesn't feel like having Haymitch glaring at him over something so silly, though.

Madge snots as the door swings open and Haymitch and her mother come in, followed by a chilly breeze and more than a few leaves.

Haymitch's eyes instantly narrow on Gale, as though he knows he's been doing something he'd disapprove of, until Matilda gently begins taking his coat off.

"Boots, Haymitch."

Looking as though breaking eye contact with Gale physically pains him, Haymitch grumbles something before he starts struggling with his boots, kicking them off and onto the little mat beside the door.

"I should head home," Gale tells Madge lowly as he pushes himself up from the floor, discreetly brushing graham cracker crumbs from his shirt as he does.

Madge lets him pull her up beside him, shielding him from Haymitch's still sullen glare, before leading him toward the kitchen.

"Leaving so soon, dear?" Matilda asks, her lips turned down in a puckered little frown.

"Yeah," Gale answers, a little too loudly. "Uh, yeah. Work in the morning."

She nods absently and begins picking at a thread on Haymitch's sleeve. "Maybe next time."

Nodding, Gale let's Madge usher him out before Haymitch can say anything coarse, which despite their alliance, he's done more and more often lately.

"He's just worried," Madge had said in way of an apology about a week after Wiress' meeting, after Haymitch had nearly bitten Gale's head off when he'd blamed him for Madge's crying. "He doesn't like Wiress and he's worried about me and my mother. He's afraid of how things are going to turn out."

Which had translated into being increasingly irritable with Gale.

"Keep your hands where I can see them," he'd snapped one day, when Gale had been helping Madge with her algebra.

"If I catch your eyes lower than her shoulder, I'm getting a spoon and goring them out."

"You so much as have a dirty dream about her and I'll know."

He's lost control of the situation, which before Wiress he'd had a tight rein on, and he's making up for the loss by being unbearable about everything left under his thumb.

Gale's happier just leaving as soon as he comes home or hiding in the study with Madge and listening to her practice her piano or helping her with homework, which usually just involves memorizing the look of concentration on her face as she studies.

Still, the old bastard has his uses, and Gale gets the impression he's not nearly as dense as he plays it most of the time. Wiress, who seems sharp as a knife and just as deadly, thinks enough of him to include him in her plan, so he has to be at least smart enough to draw her in.

"You should talk to Haymitch about your little project, even if it isn't perfect yet," Gale tells her as he pulls his coat on and adjusts the collar. "He might know something useful."

Madge just nods, still licking chocolate and marshmallow from her lips.

Gale leans in and kisses her, enjoying the fruits of his labor.

His hands have just started inching around her waist, forgetting that he's supposed to be leaving, pulling her flush against him, when he hears a throat being noisily cleared from the entry to the living room.

"Didn't you say you had work tomorrow?" Haymitch asks, his thick eyebrow high on his forehead.

Madge rolls her eyes and gives Gale a small, apologetic smile before popping back on her toes and kissing his cheek. "I'll see you in a few days?"

Gale nods, and just to annoy Haymitch, leans in and gives her one last lingering kiss, before reaching for the door handle.

"Goodbye, dear," Gale hears Matilda call to him, and he catches a flash of her pale hair and her hazy eyes over Haymitch's shoulder before he pulls the door shut behind him.

Hitching his coat a little tighter, Gale heads toward the path to the Seam, Madge's maps and diagrams floating through his head.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too. It's all hers.

"You don't need to be messing around with this crap," was Mr. Abernathy's initial reaction when Madge showed him all her plans for evacuating the District, after her mother was soundly sleeping.

"It concerns me," Madge pointed out, smashing a warm marshmallow between a couple of graham crackers, licking melting chocolate from her fingers as she handed it to him. "If you and Gale are going to work to save mom and me, then I'm going to work on saving Gale's family."

It's the very least she can do.

He'd given her a sharp look, jabbing the fire roughly with the poker, then shook his head. "You need to focus on school and parties, that kind of crap."

Madge had rolled her eyes. "I'm not learning anything in school, you said so yourself. I barely have any friends, and even if I did, you'd never let me go to a party."

Poking the fire a little more irritably, he'd grumbled something to himself, then picked up one of her diagrams. After a few minutes of studying it, his eyes tracing the lines carefully, he'd sighed.

"I'll see if I can get a hold of Wiress. If anyone will know about this crap, it's her."

Over the next few weeks he'd slowly started coming in during her and Gale's brainstorming, though for the most part he kept his actual help restricted to times when it's only Madge sitting in the study.

"You can do more than complain about Gale needing to shave and having terrible penmanship, you know?" Madge points out after she walks Gale out one evening.

"He does need to shave," he mutters.

"So do you, Haymitch," her mother tells him gently from her place at the sink, elbow deep in suds.

Mr. Abernathy glares at her before nudging Madge out the entryway and back towards the study.

"And he has the handwriting of a drunk."

Madge almost says 'takes one to know it', but keeps her mouth closed.

"I don't think that cutting the power is going to be simple," he says, dropping with a groan into the seat Gale had vacated minutes earlier and rubbing his pinkened eyes roughly. "Nothing is ever that easy with the Capitol."

Plopping back into her seat behind Mr. Abernathy's heavily scratched desk, Madge nods, her eyes focusing on a map Gale had been making notes on.

"Yeah, there seems to be some kind of fail safe in place. From what I can tell, it's to keep the electricity from going out during required viewing." She wrinkles her nose up. "There has to be a way around it though."

Mr. Abernathy straightens his stack of papers and hands them to her, the lines of his face tight and more severe than usual in the hash light from the table lamp.

"There might not be, then what?"

He's trying to gauge just what she's willing to sacrifice, who she's willing to sacrifice, to save the District.

She doesn't have an answer, though. Madge isn't willing to concede defeat just yet, not if it means getting her friends killed, even if it may be the only way to save the District. There's got to be a way around this, she just has to find it.

"There will be." There has to be.

"That idiot's optimism is rubbing off on you," Mr. Abernathy mutters, tossing his pile of crumpled papers gently towards her.

Taking them, Madge gives him a small smile. "Is a little hope such a bad thing?"

He snorts. "Hope? He's delusional, kiddo."

She doesn't bother pointing out that hope and being more than a little delusional is what made him recruit Gale into his half-baked plan in the first place, made him offer to get him into the geological corps and made him all but promise to marry Madge. He'll find a way to rationalize it and she doesn't feel like debating his motives with him.

Instead she gets up and walks around the desk, wraps her arms around his neck from behind and kisses his scruffy cheek.

"Mom's right," she tells him as she straightens up. "You need to shave, too."

#######

Gale almost tells Katniss about the plan, plans, several times, but doesn't.

There are too many unknown factors and he doesn't want to drag her into it until all the finer details are hammered out. She's his best friend, he's doesn't want to ruin her days like his and Madge's have been until it's absolutely necessary.

When he shows up in the Victors' Village one afternoon, when the mines let out early for a cart malfunction, and finds Peeta Mellark, the baker's youngest son, sitting in the study beside Madge he reconsiders his choice.

"Peeta helps work on his family's ovens," Madge explains to Gale in the hall, when she spots his soured expression focused on Mellark's dumb blond head.

"That doesn't translate to understanding complex circuitry, Madge." By that logic, Gale butchering a deer meant he could do surgery. One skill doesn't imply the other.

Chewing her lip, Madge nods. "I know, but...it's better than either of us know, and I was going to ask him and Katniss to help anyway."

Gale frowns. "You asked Katniss already?"

She shakes her head. "No. She's-You two are better friends. I figured you should do it, when the time comes."

And seeing as Mellark is already in on this mess, Gale thinks the time may be upon him. Katniss can at least keep an eye on the Gingerbread Man, make sure he's keeping his eyes and his hands to himself, since Haymitch's over protectiveness clearly doesn't extend to boys from Town. Idiot.

"Yeah," Gale mutters, running his hands through his hair.

Madge's eyes soften and she frowns. "Is something wrong?"

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Gale sighs. "No."

"Yes, there is." Her nose wrinkles up and a faint blush forms on her cheeks. "Are you mad I asked Peeta for help before you asked for Katniss?"

He isn't, not really. He's annoyed that while he's stuck in the mines, losing fingernails and getting coal dust ground into his skin, Mellark is getting to sit in Haymitch's expensive chairs in a well lit room, drinking hot chocolate and eating candies, with Gale's girlfriend. Gale is the one trying to save her life, but he isn't even getting to see her half as much as a guy who decorates cookies in his free time.

Forcing a smile, Gale shakes his head. "I'm just tired."

Which is true, too.

Before he can stop her, Madge leans into him and wraps him in a hug, her winter pale cheek smudging with black from his uniform.

"You can go upstairs and take a nap," she offers.

"Haymitch would love that," Gale chuckles, letting his coal dust covered arms wrap around her, marking her further.

She shrugs against him. "As long as I'm not with you, he'll tolerate it. My mother likes changing the sheets in the guestroom anyways."

Much as he'd like to take a nap, he'd rather do it on the little couch in the study, with Madge, while Mellark walks home. Preferably in the rain.

That seems unlikely to happen, though, so he decides to go to the kitchen and get a glass of water.

"You want something to drink, too?" He asks as he lets her go and turns toward the kitchen.

"No, but Peeta might," Madge says, turning back to the study as if to yell in and ask.

Gale chooses to ignore that and vanishes down the hall.

Since Gale had come through the kitchen earlier, Haymitch has come in and is sitting at the kitchen table, drinking something from a mug and reading the newspaper. He glances up when Gale comes in but doesn't say anything.

Opening the cabinet, Gale finds one of the tall glasses Matilda always gives him and fills it at the sink. Running water, he thinks irritably, must be nice to have this all the time.

Leaning against the counter, Gale takes a long drink and tries to bite his tongue, but then he hears Mellark's obnoxious laughter coming from the study and he can't do it.

"So I'm the only guy that gets parental supervision?"

Haymitch doesn't bother looking up from the paper as he turns the page noisily.

"Yep."

Squeezing his glass, Gale imagines it shattering and throwing the pieces at Haymitch's smug face.

"Why exactly?"

Taking a long drink from his mug, Haymitch shrugs. "Peeta's a good boy."

"And I'm not?"

"You're a filthy minded man with wandering hands," Haymitch says simply, before taking a deep drink from his mug. "So no, you aren't."

Letting out a long growl, Gale puts his glass down a little too forcefully and stomps over to the table.

"But I'm the guy you helped get a better job so I could take care of her when something happens to you. I'm the guy you're trusting her life to."

"Not by choice," Haymitch grumbles. "You're incidental."

"Because Madge picked me."

"Exactly." Haymitch put the paper down and glares. "You wouldn't've even made the short list of guys I'd let look at her."

Gale would bet his paycheck that Mellark, with his stupid laugh and his dingy blond hair, would've made that list though.

Dropping into the chair across from Haymitch, Gale grinds his teeth.

"You trust Madge, don't you?" He finally asks, receiving an indifferent grunt in response. Focusing on the grain of the table's wood, Gale carefully grinds out his next thought. "She's smart, you know that, you told me yourself she wouldn't like me if I were a shit person-"

"Well she likes me too, so maybe she's just soft-hearted for bastards," Haymitch snaps. He points his thick finger at Gale, his eyes narrowed. "All those rumors I've heard over the years, even if you're not playing a game now, doesn't mean you aren't a genuine article dick. It's only a matter of time before your true colors come blazing through. I just have to hope you keep it under wraps until Madge is safe."

Gale almost asks just what he'd planned on doing if his old plan, marrying Madge to Gale and setting her life up for when he's gone, had come to fruition, but doesn't. Haymitch is only goading him, and doing a damn good job of it. Gale can just barely string his defense together.

"People talk," Gale snarls. "And not all of it is true."

Gale's good-looking, he knows that. Being a 'catch' as Greasy Sae always says, comes with a price. Girls have pretended to have gone to the slag heap with him and guys, sometimes his own supposed friends, turned him into some kind of idol. Someone to aspire too.

It had never bothered him when it had started, he'd never realized the consequences a reputation might have. Haymitch is showing him though.

"Some of it is true, thought," Haymitch counters. "Question is, how much of it?"

"How much of the rumors that people tossed around, still do, about why you took Madge are true?"

Haymitch pales a little and his jaw tightens. Gale would swear he can hear his teeth cracking.

"Not a damn word." He glares across the table. "I would never hurt her."

It's dangerous ground he's treading, bringing up the wild speculations that had spread through the District when Haymitch had stomped into the Home, taken Madge, and then practically fought the officials holding Matilda. It has to be done though, Gale is through with his disparaging.

"I know," Gale finally says. "And I won't either. I'm willing to die for her, you asshole. How many guys on your list are you one-hundred percent sure would risk everything for her?"

They hold each other's glare for a minute, waiting for the other to blink as the sink drips, breaking the silence, before Haymitch finally sits back, nodding.

"I still don't like you," he concedes.

"Feeling is mutual," Gale mutters.

A few minutes pass before the big clock in the living room chimes and Haymitch points his thick finger at the refrigerator.

"Go get you a beer, like a man," he grumbles.

Stretching his legs, Gale goes to the fridge and grabs an amber bottle.

It's cheap, from the Seam, and he wonders briefly if Haymitch keeps it as a nod to where he's from.

With a sharp twist, he opens it and takes a long drink before dropping into the seat again.

It's a truce, sort of, and Gale will take it.

"You give Mellark beers?" He asks.

Haymitch shakes his head. "Nope."

Gale feels a triumphant grin twitch up on his lips. "Good."

#######

Gale sits on the little couch by the window for the rest of the afternoon, occasionally shooting Peeta dark looks.

Madge isn't sure why, Peeta's never done anything to him. From what she's been able to tell, his dad has always made fair trades with Gale and his dad, bread for squirrels. There's really no explanation for it.

When Peeta finally leaves, about the time Gale would normally be getting to the Village, Madge goes back into the study and frowns at him from the doorway.

"What's wrong?"

He doesn't answer at first, just keeps staring out the window, apparently watching Peeta vanishing down the road and back to Town. Then he shifts, his mouth in a sharp turn down.

"How long has Mellark been coming up here?"

Smiling, Madge crosses her arms. "Only the last two days."

His eyebrows scrunch together. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Fighting the urge to laugh, Madge keeps her smile even. Is that's what's been bothering him?

"I was planning on telling you tonight. If you remember, I haven't seen you in a few days."

He's been at work late because of the stops during the day for mandatory viewing of the Victory Tour. It's made coming by to see her the last three days difficult.

Grumbling an acknowledgement, Gale takes a long drink from his beer and goes back to staring out the window.

Crossing the room, Madge drops beside him and rests her cheek against the rough fabric on his shoulder. She tilts her head so that her chin is against his arm and she's staring up at him.

"Are you jealous, Gale?"

He grunts in the negative.

"You are, aren't you?" She smiles, twisting and wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him back and into her chest, one of her legs dangling off the couch and the other pinned between Gale and the back of the couch. Once he's secure, his arms crossed sullenly and his jaw set, Madge nuzzles her nose into his dusty hair. "You don't have to be jealous of Peeta."

If anyone needs to be jealous of anything, it's Madge with Katniss. They're out in the woods together, maybe not as often as they had been before Gale started in the mines, but there's still something special about their connection that Madge knows she'll never be able to touch. She can't dwell on that though. It would take from the precious little time they have and she won't have that.

There has never been a chance of anything more between her and Peeta, not the least of which is lack of chances. She and Peeta aren't nearly that close, and their interactions have always been under the nose of either his parents or Mr. Abernathy. They've never seen each other that way, and they never would. She just needs to make Gale understand that.

"He's not stuck in a hole twelve hours a day. He doesn't have Haymitch breathing down his neck everytime he's near you." Gale's scowl deepens. "I'm not jealous. I'm envious of the bastard."

Resting her cheek against the crown of his head, Madge sighs.

She wishes he didn't have to be. She wishes that when that foreman tells him he's got the position with the corps that they could relax, that he could have his nice, safe job, that they'll have time to spend with each other.

They don't though.

Time is a luxury they don't have, and Gale seems acutely aware of that. That's what he envies of Peeta, that he's getting the time that's so precious to them, that's slipping away faster than they realized.

Tilting her head, Madge kissed his dark, scratchy cheek.

"I know."

It won't be long though, only a few more days, before the number of their days is given. Wiress will come with the Victory Tour and round up the men he's decided will help them and, if Mr. Abernathy has convinced her, find out if she's going to help save the District from the consequences of her plan.

Much as Madge would like to whisper that it's going to be okay, that would be an empty promise. It won't be okay. No matter what happens, it's going to end badly.

Gale finally relaxes, his shoulders slumping into her and his head lolling onto her shoulder as he sighs, sending a warm breath across her neck.

"I wish I could sit up here all day and help you, not Mellark."

Madge lets her fingers trace lazy lines on the front of his work shirt and nods. There's nothing to say to that, nothing to make it better.

He shifts, turns and puts the window at his back as he slouches into the couch and pulls Madge onto his lap and buries his face in her messy hair.

"I'm gonna save you though," he whispers as he presses a kiss to her head. "I can't be up here helping you, but I'm gonna save you."

Mr. Abernathy was wrong, Gale's hopefulness hasn't rubbed off on her, not as much as he thinks it has. She can't make promises that have no chance of becoming reality, Gale can. Because he truly believes what he's saying, that he's going to stop the inevitable.

She knows it's silly, but she can't bring herself to break his heart by telling him he needs to prepare for the worst, it's the only comfort he has for her right now. She can't take it from him. Part of her even feels a little guilty. He probably thinks she has more faith that everything is going to happen than she does because of all her planning, that things will fall into place and by this time next year they'll be free from the Capitol. Trying to find a way to save the District from the consequences of their actions may only be reinforcing his belief that she thinks there's a chance, even though she doesn't.

It's nothing more than her futile efforts to pay him back for everything he's going to sacrifice for her.

His blind hope is a comfort though. She can't let go of that just yet.

"I love you," she murmurs as she adjusts herself, pressing her ear against his chest and letting his heartbeat echo in her head.

Even if all their plans fail, even if he can't really save her, at least they have that. Love and cold comfort may be enough. She hopes so.

#######

Madge walks him to the edge of the backyard and kisses him goodbye as she shivers in the briskly blowing wind, drizzle dampening her hair.

"Get back inside and warm up, Gale murmurs against her lips, even if all he wants to do is scoop her up and carry her away.

She's seemed a little low all afternoon, and he hopes it isn't his little admittance about Mellark that ruined her day.

Telling her that he wishes it were him and not her bakery best friend had started a slight downward turn in her mood, and he regrets that. He hadn't meant to upset her, just vent his frustration at being so far away from her all day while Mellark can see her before, during, and, most irritatingly, after school. That's his problem, not her, and he shouldn't have put his insecurities on her. She has enough to deal with at the moment.

He hopes that once the Victory Tour comes, through and that Wiress woman gives them more of an insight into her plan, that he can do something to make up for the last few miserable months. Maybe take her out to the woods, which have been frustratingly off limits since the start of the Tour, and down to the lake. There's a cabin and he's constructed a lazy afternoon in his mind filled with wrapping up in a fur in front of a warmly burning fire and smoked fish.

They just need to make it that far. Past whatever they learn when the Victory Tour rolls in and just what their future holds.

Wet slush splashes up onto his leg when he accidentally steps in a dark puddle and he swears. At least it's only his work clothes. They're filthy anyways.

When he opens the front door to the house, his brothers are sitting at the coffee table across from their dad, who has Posy on his lap, apparently playing a card game. Gale would guess poker, Rory has been obsessed with it lately.

Gale puts his lunch pail on the counter and drops down at the table next to his mother and reaches in the battered laundry basket at her feet, pulling out a worn looking undershirt, his undershirt. It's personal laundry day then.

She gives him an exhausted smile as she shakes out one of Posy's little dresses.

"You can go play with them, you know?" She tells more than asks him.

Nodding, Gale shrugs. "Don't really feel like it."

They sit and quietly fold the laundry while his dad and the kids play, right up until the tv flickers on. An update on the Tour.

It isn't mandatory viewing, not like the actual Tour, which they shut down work almost every other day to make the Districts watch, but they do make sure the electricity and television is on during them just the same.

Gale ignores it, like every night, and so does his family.

It goes on for an hour, ridiculous drivel that no one but people from the Capitol cares about, before Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith sign off, flashing toothy grins at the cameras before the television dies, leaving a strange emptiness where the hum of electricity had been.

"Okay," Gale hears his dad say as he stands, shifting Posy in his arms and popping his back loudly. "Time for bed kids."

Posy is half asleep anyway and simply nods as he carries her to her room, but Vick and Rory protest.

"It's not even late," Rory grumbles.

Vick nods vigorously.

"You have school in the morning, boys," their mother reminds them tiredly. "You can't be falling asleep in class."

"I'm not a baby," Rory mutters. He shoots Vick a calculated look. "Not like Vick."

It takes a minute of thought, then-

"I'm not a baby!" Vick shouts, glaring at Rory. He looks at their mother. "Mom, tell him I'm not a baby."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Gale watches his mother grasp for what's left of her energy for the day.

"Boys..."

Posy's door shuts softly as their dad steps back into the room, a slight frown on his face, clearly already aware that two out of three of his sons are causing trouble.

"Rory, Vic-"

Before he can even ask just what they're arguing about there's a small knock on the door.

Everyone stills, frowning at each other and glancing at the clock. It's late, too late for anyone with any good news to be coming by.

The last time Gale remembers getting a visitor this late, it had been after his grandmother had died. Since he's out of grandparents, and his aunts and uncles have either died or vanished, there's no one for them to be bringing bad news about. That means it can only be Peacekeepers.

Tensely, Gale's dad crosses the room, shooting both Gale and his mother a worried look.

He doesn't want to open the door, there are several possibilities as to just who is on the other side, and none of them are good, and all of them know that. Between jumping the fence, illegal hunting and trading, and plotting to overthrow the government, Gale and his father have more than a few reasons to be getting a late night visit from Peacekeepers.

When his dad opens the door, though, there are no white uniforms or guns.

Instead, they find a girl.

She's probably close to Gale's age, though a little short, wearing an ill-fitting dress that looks like one of Posy's normal hand-me-downs from the neighbor girl, before Madge had given her the new ones with a large, tattered looking bag thrown over her shoulder. Her hair is long and dark, straight, dull, and in need of a wash.

None of that is strange though, she looks like most girls in the Seam, worn and lackluster, if a little pale than usual, like she's spent too much time out of the sun, more time than the miners even, and her skin has grayed out from it.

There's something very deliberate about her unkemptness, though, that Gale doesn't like. He doesn't recognize her, which may not mean much, he gets the impression blending in is a particular talent of hers, but her sudden and strangely timed appearance give her an air of danger.

She stands at the door for a moment, squinting up at the patched roof over the porch, before her gaze drops to Gale's dad, as if a little bored.

"Oh, good, you're still up," she says simply, stepping around Gale's dad and into the room, without waiting for an invitation. "This District turns in with the sun."

With that she goes to the coffee table and picks up the cards, left face down, and examines the hand that had been Vick's, her eyebrows raising a fraction as she does.

Shrugging, she drops them and goes to the kitchen table, plopping her filthy bag down before digging through it and ignoring the curious stares she's receiving.

Finally, Gale hears his dad clear his throat.

"Miss?" He frowns at her back. "I think you're lost."

She turns, gives the room a quick half glance, then gives him a dewy smile. "No, I'm not."

Without an explanation, she goes back to her bag, pulling out what looks to be battered files and slapping them onto the table.

"I think you've made a mistake," Gale's dad tries again, stepping between the clearly mad girl and the rest of the family.

Jaw tensing, she shakes her head and doesn't look up from the papers she's shuffling. "Asher Hawthorne, Row 314, house 42."

Gale feels his stomach lurch. Without thinking he steps past his dad and narrows his eyes at her. Something isn't right and he's going to find out what.

"Who the hell are you?" He finally snaps. Whoever she is, she's playing some kind of game and he isn't interested.

"Gale," his dad whispers, low and harsh, a warning tone.

"Language, Gale," his mother adds weakly, arms tightening around Vick and Rory's shoulders, though her eyes don't leave the girl.

As the girl turns from the table and faces him, she grins, a bit wickedly, revealing perfectly straight and painfully white teeth. Not the teeth of anyone from the Seam, no matter how she's dressed.

Taking a few step, she's in front of him, toe to toe, nose wrinkled as she tilts her head and stares up at him. "Cranky. Such an attractive quality. No wonder Haymitch's girl likes you. You're his youthful twin."

Gale's teeth grind together as he glares at her.

His dad grabs him by the back of the shirt and away from the girl, stepping between them in one move.

"Miss-"

"Alameda," she says before Gale's dad can finish his sentence.

"What?" He frowns down at her, eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

Her hand shoots out, perfectly manicured fingernails making her otherness complete. "Phoebe Alameda, Victor."

Gale watches as his dad reaches out and takes her hand, giving it a careful squeeze as he continues to stare at her warily.

"Now," she gives him a mild look as she drops his hand and turns her back on him, striding back to the table. "We have a lot of details to hammer out."

She digs through her bag again, making a triumphant sound before turning and holding up a small paper bag. "It's gonna be a long night, so I brought refreshments. I hope everyone likes rattlesnake."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.

Asher watches the girl as she holds out the little paper bag, smiling out at the bewildered family.

Like Wiress, she's not quite what he expected of a Victor, but then, he supposes, maybe that's why they're friends. Not being what people expect may be their tie that binds.

Not beautiful, not graceful, not strong, just odd and, he assumes, clever.

When no one takes her offer she shrugs and pulls it back to her, opening it and reaching in, pulling out a dry looking piece of meat.

"More for me then," she says brightly, ripping off a chunk with her unnervingly perfect teeth.

Cautiously, Asher takes a step towards her, shooting Gale, still fuming at the intrusion, a look and letting him know to watch his words. This girl is an unknown. So far she seems a little loud, pushy, and certain of herself, all bundled in a seemingly harmless little package with messy hair and badly fitted clothing.

She is dangerous though. Despite how she looks, Phoebe isn't weak or fragile, she isn't a kid. She's a Victor, like Haymitch and Wiress, and that makes her anything but harmless.

"Miss Alameda," he begins softly, keeping himself between her and his family, treating her like the wild animal she is. "You're here because of the-because Wiress sent you?"

Tapping the end of her nose then pointing to him, she grins.

Gale steps up and around Asher, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes.

"The Victory Tour won't be in Twelve for two more days-"

"Well aren't you just a budding detective," Phoebe chirps, rolling her eyes.

"-what did she send you here early for?" Gale grinds out, clearly just barely able to keep his tone civil.

For a minute she seems to have decided to ignore him as she concentrates on chewing her jerky, to Gale's increasingly obvious annoyance, then she takes a long breath.

"First off, Gale, you have a stupid name. Gale is a girl' name-"

"It is not!" Gale snaps as Rory and Vick begin snickering.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure it is." She holds up a hand to silence him, clearly enjoying his frustration, and continues. "Anyway, second, and more importantly, I'm not early. I'm right on time. They send a prep team before the Tour reaches each District to get things camera ready. And this District needs more help than most, trust me. Since my usual job is pretty solitary, Wiress asked me to get things rolling."

Turning on her heels, she begins shuffling papers on the table. After a couple of silent seconds, she turns back and frowns, eyebrows high on her forehead.

"Well? Are you going to get over here or do you want me to shout everything at you?"

Exchanging a look with Hazelle, Asher catches a minuscule nod of resignation.

There's no turning back now, and they both know it.

"Boys, go to bed," Hazelle tells Rory and Vick softly, giving them both a nudge towards their room.

"But-" Rory starts to protest, but quiets when he catches the stern look Asher shoots him.

Huffing, Rory shoves his hands into his pockets and stalks off towards his room, but Vick stays, eyes fixed on Phoebe.

"How did you know Gale's name?" He asks, his mouth turning down and his nose wrinkling up.

Smiling, she shrugs. "I know a lot of things, Vick."

Eyes widening, still fixed on her, Vick nods.

Jerking her thumb towards the bedroom, Phoebe tilts her head and clicks her tongue. "Get to bed, kid"

Continuing to nod, Vick starts toward the room, bumping into the couch and stunning himself back into attention. He grins sheepishly, then scurries off after the baffled looking Rory.

Once their door is shut, clicking when Hazelle goes over and pulls it completely closed, Asher turns back to the unwanted guest.

"Well, what do you have there, miss?"

#######

There are papers spread out on the table, the margins around the maps crowded with neat but cramped handwritten notes.

Asher glances at Gale, studiously staring at each paper, committing each word and every line to memory.

He's got the blueprint for the Presidential Mansion. It's crisp and professional looking, not like the smudged, though carefully drawn, map Asher has setting in front of him.

It's the Capitol's underground, pieced together judging by the various textures and different handwriting on it. Parts of it are old, faded and retraced, while other parts are dark and fresh, new additions to the collection.

"You boys will be coming with me, up through here," Phoebe explains, standing and leaning over the table, pointing out a narrow looking passage that apparently runs under the mansion. "See? We've made a way into the basement through here. We sneak in, place the explosives, then head back out."

She makes it sound so simple, straightforward and easy, that's for a minute Asher almost thinks it might work.

Looking up at her, he frowns as he watches her plop back down in her chair and begin sifting through notes.

"Will it work?" He asks without thinking.

Eyebrows arching up, she shrugs. "Won't know until we try."

That isn't much of a comfort, but he supposed it's at least honest.

"Sound real confident," Gale mutters beside him.

"Gale," Hazelle scolds him softly as she sets a cup in front of their guest.

Phoebe frowns at the chipped cup and then up at Hazelle. "What's this?"

"Tea," Hazelle answers simply, with a tight smile. She isn't happy that the girl is there, or more specifically why the girl is there, but her innate need to be at least a pleasant hostess has overcome her dislike.

Squinting up at Hazelle, Phoebe picks up the cup and sniffs it. "What's in it?"

Smile slipping off, Hazelle tilts her head slightly. "Tea."

Looking certain that she's being lied to, Phoebe sniffs the tea again, then sets it down and grabs up her bag.

While she digs through it, Hazelle cuts both Asher and Gale a confused look.

As Asher is about to ask if she doesn't like tea, Phoebe shoots up, a small, flat plate in her hand.

At first, Asher thinks it's a coaster, something he's only seen during his trades with some of the people in Town, but then it flips it open and slides what looks to be a small, square piece of paper from it.

Dipping her finger into the tea, she smears it across the paper and waits. When nothing happens, she smiles up at Hazelle.

"Oh, it is just tea." She laughs. "Thanks."

Gale makes a huffing noise as she starts sipping cautiously.

"Nutcase," he mutters, shaking his head and letting his eyes drop back to the papers in front of him.

Asher gives him a small kick under the table and Gale looks up, a murderous expression etched on his face.

"What?" He snaps.

"Don't," Asher softly warns him.

Before Gale can say anything back though, Phoebe snorts into her cup.

Smiling brightly, she shrugs.

"Don't worry, Mr. Hawthorne. Nutcase is hardly the worst thing I've ever been called."

Asher feels his stomach roll slightly.

Though she doesn't seem bothered by it, and really, he thinks she started the name calling with her slight against Gale's name, Asher can't help feeling the tiniest bit sorry for her. She reminds him a little too much of Posy. A little girl trying to play at being bigger and tougher than she is, but still just a kid.

He quickly shakes the thought off. Phoebe and Posy are nothing alike, and he needs to keep them separate in his mind. Twining the two is dangerous.

"We've run the numbers, and for this little excursion, for safety and security, we're only going to involve the fewest number of miners possible," she begins, smoothing out a severely creased paper in front of her.

Gale nods, looking slightly less agitated, reaching into his back pocket to where Asher knows he has a crumpled piece of paper with a short list of names, men he trusts to be part of the plan.

"I approve of Mr. Everdeen and Mr. Lacewood with son, though I've still got my misgivings, but Vawtner has a sick kid and I don't want to give him something to bargain for Capitol meds with, and Sanderson, well, he's got a gossipy wife and we can't -"

"What?" Gale's head snaps up as he pulls his wallet out. His lips thin and he narrows his eyes. "How do you know those names?"

They're all names on the list Gale has carefully written out over the last few months, but as Gale opens his wallet and pulls out the paper, smudged with coal covered fingerprints, Asher knows just what Gale means. There's no way for her to know those names.

"The list is still here," Gale says lowly, suspiciously. "How do you know those names?"

After taking a sip of her tea, Phoebe sets the cup down and folds her arms over the papers in front of her, lacing her fingers and smiling.

"Well, I'm smarter than you," she answers simply. "Did you think we'd let you just hand us a list of names and not check them? We've been, well, I've been watching you and determining which men you'd choose, and it seems like I did a pretty good job, huh?"

Asher actually thinks so. He doesn't say that though, since Gale's stormy glare makes it clear he isn't as impressed as Asher is.

"You've been spying on my son?" Hazelle asks suddenly, her eyes wide in horror.

Phoebe tilts her head in thought for a moment, then nods. "Yeah, you could say that." Her eyes cut to Gale. "So you'd best start kissing my backside a little, Dorothy. I've got some pretty saucy pictures of you and Mr. Haymitch's little princess that you probably don't want either one of your parents to see."

Gale's glare doesn't falter, even when Asher coughs uncomfortably and Hazelle looks away in embarrassment.

He makes a low growling noise, but is cut off by a laugh.

"Clean out your ears and zip your trap, puddin'. Here on out you're gonna listen, 'cause I don't have time to spoon-feed you all night."

#######

By the time midnight rolls around Gale is certain that there's a thread of obnoxiousness that runs through all Victors and that he's met the two who managed to get it in spades.

After she points out every flaw each of his friends possess, she again tells them that Jude, Thom, and Thom's dad are the least objectionable choices.

"I'll let you know when to meet up again, and don't worry, I'll let the others know when and where to meet up when the Tour comes through. So for the love of chocolate covered bacon, don't mention anything to them, we need everyone to be as paranoid as possible coming in. Helps with security. Wiress will have the rest of the details when we all meet up," she says as she heads out the door, taking her disgusting bag and her irritating personality with her.

"Where's your coat?" Gale's dad asks her when she's finally started to open the door.

Alameda glances down at her thin dress and frowns, as though just now realizing she doesn't have the proper attire for running around in the dead of winter.

"I'll live," she tells him with a shrug.

His dad isn't having it though, going to the trunk in the corner and pulling out one of his old coats that had been slated for rags by Gale's mother.

"Here, take this. You can give it back when we meet up again."

She takes it hesitantly, examining it like the tea, then looks up, her eyebrows knitted together tightly. "Why?"

Gale's dad looks confused, and Gale almost rolls his eyes. His dad has always been too nice at times, giving a coat to a girl that doesn't give a damn about them past what they can do for her is just a symptom whatever strange compulsion for compassion he has.

Mouth pulling into a tight frown, his dad glances at the window and the light snow coming down, then back at Alameda.

"It's cold."

Looking thoroughly confused, Alameda puts the coat on before giving Gale's dad a small, bewildered smile. "Thanks."

And with that she's gone, hopefully far, far away.

"These dimensions are pretty tight," Gale says, trying to pull his dad's attention away from their departing guest, jabbing the map she'd left behind on the table for him to study. Hopefully Thom's dad will fit through. Tiny may be his nickname, but tiny he is not.

His dad drops down beside him and takes the paper, nodding.

"He's crawled through worse."

Handing the paper back, he stands and pops his back. "Let's get to bed, son. We still have work tomorrow."

Rolling up the papers, Gale stuffs them into the cylinder Alameda had given them and hands them to his dad. His parents' room is safer from nosey little boys than Gale's, seeing as those nosey boys are sharing Gale's room.

His mother gives him a quick kiss on the cheek and a worn smile before gently nudging him towards his room.

Pulling off his filthy work shirt and pants, Gale collapses onto his worthless bed without washing up more. He'd scrubbed himself at Madge's, and he's too physically and mentally exhausted to go out in the cold and clean himself up more. It's more work for his mother, and he regrets that, but he'll make it up to her.

Wishing he could talk to Madge sooner than the next afternoon, he tries to think of what she's going to say. Seeing physical proof of what is going to happen in the Capitol and just how far this thing has come is bound to cause her fear, which he's started to feel settle, flare back up.

Then his stomach rolls.

That awful Alameda woman will probably go by the Victors' Village and he can only imagine how horrible she'll be to Madge.

He almost gets up and gets dressed, ready to stomp up to the Village to keep her from harassing Madge, but thinks better if it. Haymitch may be a useless lump, but he won't let her upset Madge or hurt her. It's quite literally his one redeeming quality in Gale's eyes.

Heavy lids finally drop shut and his wildly spinning mind continues to run over the maps, but right as he's at the cusp of a restless night of sleep, someone plops on his bed.

"Gale, are you awake?" He hears Vick whisper loudly, lightly poking Gale in the ribs.

Opening one eye halfway, Gale doesn't answer, just gives his brother an irritable grunt.

Vick grins and turns toward Rory.

"Come on, Rory, he's awake!"

Before he can even roll to his side and properly ignore them, Rory climbs out of bed and jumps onto Gale's.

"What's going on? Why is a Victor coming to our house? Did you piss her off?" He rattles off his questions.

"Are you in trouble?" Vick manages to squeeze in, his eyes wide with worry.

Reluctantly, Gale sits up, rubbing his hands over his burning eyes.

"Nothing is going on," he lies. "She's just one of Haymitch's pain in the ass friends. He sent her to annoy me."

Rory and Vick exchange a look that plainly lets Gale know they don't believe him.

"Gale, don't insult my intelligence," Rory says, crossing his arms and staring down his nose.

Gale tries not to roll his eyes at him. It's impossible to insult something that doesn't exist.

"We were standing right there when you were talking about someone named 'Wiress'. Who is she? What are you and dad up to? Is this what you two are always whispering about?" Rory asks, narrowing his eyes.

Damn. Gale had forgotten they'd been in the living room.

"She's-shes just another Victor. Like I said, Haymitch crap." He quickly adds, "And we aren't up to anything, or whispering."

Rolling his eyes and huffing, Rory gets up and clomps back to bed, muttering that Gale is 'withholding information' and 'such a dick'.

Vick frowns and stares at his hands for a second before sliding off Gale's bed and sighing. His wide gray eyes reflect the thin sliver of moonlight that slips through the thin curtains over the window as he turns them on Gale.

"Whatever it really is, be careful, Gale."

Gale takes a deep breath. He actually doesn't like lying to Vick. Unlike Posy, who forgets what is and isn't a secret, and Rory, who doesn't care, Vick keeps his mouth shut. He's the easy sibling to talk to.

"I will, buddy," he whispers back, reaching out and pulling his youngest brother into a hug. "I will."

#######

Madge is deep in a dream, something about a lake and strawberries with Gale, when she hears something crash in the kitchen.

Bolting up in bed, she squints around the room, into the dim pink light of the flower shaped lamp Mr. Abernathy had bought her for her thirteenth birthday.

Crawling out of bed, she tiptoes to the door and opens it as quietly as she can.

Her mother's door is still firmly shut, probably in a morphling deep sleep, but Mr. Abernathy is already in the hall, the heavy crowbar he keeps beside his bed gripped tightly in his hands.

He's slept with it, at least as far as Madge knows, since her and her mother had moved in with him.

"Little assholes are always trying to break in," he'd told her. "Think there's something up here to steal."

Madge had wrinkled up her nose and looked around the house. There certainly had been things worth stealing, at least in her mind, but when she'd pointed that out he'd waved her off.

"I can buy more stuff." He'd smiled and patted her cheek then given her a kiss on the forehead. "You and your momma, though, that's all I really worry about, and scared idiots trying to rob a place don't think too clearly."

He'd chased off a few would-be robbers, people who thought that he'd be an easier mark since he had people to look after, people to distract him. That had shown a remarkable lack of understanding on their part.

Instead of being distracted, Mr. Abernathy had become almost hyper-vigilant. He hadn't just chased people off, he'd filed charges against a few. Something he'd apparently been hesitant to do before.

"Didn't want to ruin anyone's life," he'd explained with a huff. "Can't play soft with 'em now, though. Gotta show them I'm not playing around anymore."

Since their arrival, he's yet to forget to set the alarm on the house or lock the doors.

That hadn't stopped whoever was currently in their kitchen though.

"Back in the room, kid," he rasps at her as he slowly, softly steps down the stairs.

Ignoring him, Madge creeps up beside him and follows him, despite the irritable look she's getting.

As they get down the stairs, Madge spots the kitchen light on, spilling out into the living room. Whoever is in there is quieter now, running water and opening the fridge.

Before Madge can stop him, Mr. Abernathy hoists his crowbar over his head and runs through the opening, yelling incoherently as he does.

"Mr. Abernathy!" Madge half shouts as she runs after him, trying to keep from tripping over the edge of her nightgown as she does.

She freezes in her steps as she hears his gruff voice rumble in confusion.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Worried at what she's going to find, Madge softly treads to the opening between the living room and the kitchen and peaks in.

Mr. Abernathy is standing at the center of the kitchen, crowbar held loosely in one hand and the other rubbing at his temple. Across from him, taking what looks to be a rather large bite of what appears to be a well filled cold-cut sandwich, is a girl.

She isn't much older than Madge, though several inches shorter, with dry, dirty looking dark hair and a ragged dress.

At first, Madge thinks she's just a hungry kid from the Seam, and maybe a little sick, judging by the grayed pallor of her skin, but quickly thinks better of it. No kid from the Seam would know how to get past Mr. Abernathy's alarm system, and none of them would be foolish enough to simply stand around in the kitchen they've just broken into with a madman wielding a crowbar only feet away.

After several seconds, the girl swallows her bite of sandwich and smiles, perfectly straight, unnaturally white teeth.

"Wiress warned me you were extra friendly during house calls," she says, her lips widening wickedly.

Mr. Abernathy growls, "You scared the shit out of me, you little-I should kill you!"

She shrugs. "Get in line."

Taking a deep, agitated breath, Mr. Abernathy sets his crowbar down with a clank on the table and crosses his arms.

Feeling more than a little out of the loop, Madge clears her throat.

Seeming to finally remember that she's there, Mr. Abernathy and the girl look at her.

"Oh," Mr. Abernathy grunts. He jerks his head toward the girl to introduce her. "Madge, this pain in the ass is Bird. She's here to prepare the District for the Victory Tour."

Madge's nose wrinkles her nose. "Prepare the District?"

He nods. "Yeah, every year they come through and get things 'camera ready', you know, make us look as completely pathetic as possible, but clean, can't have anything dirty sullying the Capitol's precious eyeballs."

Leaning around him to get a better look at the girl, Madge's frown deepens. "You come out every year, but I've never seen you. That means you're here to help with the plan, right?"

Bird finishes chewing a chunk cheese and washes it down with what looks like water, but may be some of Mr. Abernathy's white liquor, the cabinet where he keeps it is open, and sighs.

"Boy, she and Detective Hawthorne should start a PI business. Couple of Sherlock Holmeses," she mutters, rolling her eyes and setting her glass down on the counter.

"Hawthorne?" Madge sputters. "Gale?"

Nodding her head, Bird laughs. "Yeah, your brain dead boyfriend is actually why I'm here so late. He's cute, but not too bright, and kinda cranky." Her gaze cuts to Mr. Abernathy and she shrugs. "But you know, like mother like daughter."

Before Madge can comment on that or even ask about Gale, Bird has crossed the room and dropped down at the table and begun pulling papers from a filthy and frayed gray bag.

She plops papers out, several stained and singed at the edges, and begins shuffling through them before looking up at Madge and Mr. Abernathy.

"Well? Come on, I haven't got all night."

Exchanging a look with Mr. Abernathy, Madge slowly walks to the table and sits down across from the stranger and picks up one of the papers she's tossed across the table.

Eyebrows pulling together, Madge looks up and clears her throat. "Um, Bird?"

"Birdy," she corrects, looking up with a calm, almost sleepy smile. "And, yes?"

Holding out the papers to her, Madge bites her lip. "Well, these are maps of the District. I thought-aren't you helping with the plan for the Capitol?"

A wicked grin twitches up on Birdy's lips and she sits back, nodding. "I am, but you aren't, are you?"

She waits half a second before carrying on.

"Mr. Haymitch tells me you've been trying to come up with a way to save this dump if we don't succeed, and let's be honest, that's more likely to happen than us actually getting anywhere with this impending disaster. I've been trying to get around your little problem with the override in the electric." She points at a diagram, hand drawn and sloppy. "I've had several people look into it, and there's no way around it."

The brief flash of hope that had flared up in her chest quickly dies. There's no way to cut the electricity.

"Well, other than someone frying themselves shutting it off manually, but that seems..."

"Deadly?" Mr. Abernathy supplies, his lips curled in disgust. "Please tell me you didn't wake me up at one thirty in the morning just to give me bad news, kid?"

Giving him a flat look, Birdy arches her eyebrows. "I would love to, but happily, I've found a work around."

Madge's deflated slouch perks up. "A work around?"

Birdy nods and pulls out what looks like a ledger. "I figured while I was stealing explosives for our little project in the Capitol, I might as well take a few extra."

One of Mr. Abernathy's thick eyebrows arches up. "Your plan is to blow it up?"

The question hangs in the air for a moment while Birdy crosses her arms over her mess of papers.

"Yeah, pretty much," she finally says.

Mr. Abernathy's eyes roll. "I should've listened to Wiress when she told me it was hopeless."

Looking offended, Birdy straightens up.

"Why? This is a good plan. Sort of. Mostly." She slouches back down. "I mean, it's better than sitting here and waiting for them to bomb the daylights out of everyone, plus, the smoke plays hell on the Capitol planes visibility. So much for their superior technology. That's what they get for having the people they're stepping all over help build their weapons."

"You think we should blow up the breaker house?" Madge asks to clarify, her stomach rolling slightly. She'd hoped for a less violent way around the Capitol's failsafe.

Birdy nods. "Then you take down the fence and head west. District Eleven should be able to absorb you by the time you reach them."

"Not including our ghost friends in this, then, are we, Bird?" Mr. Abernathy asks, getting up and sauntering to the cabinet, pulling out a bottle of white liquor and taking a long drink from it.

Madge isn't sure what he means by that, but Birdy apparently does. Her nose wrinkles up in disgust.

"No...we're not," she answers flatly, standing up and reaching across the table to where Mr. Abernathy has just flopped down, snatching the bottle from his hand and taking a long drink and gagging, her tongue sticking out in dislike. "That's awful. Can't you afford something decent?"

One of his eyebrows rises. "Yep."

Thrusting the bottle back at him, Birdy sits down and shoots him a dark look before turning her attention to Madge.

"Since you're clearly the only reasonable person in this hellhole of a District, let's talk, Magdalene."

#######

Birdy isn't as awful as Madge initially thought.

She isn't the most pleasant person, a little blunt, but having to work with the Capitol on a frequent basis has probably frayed her a bit. Mr. Abernathy is proof that even the best people can be broken by the twisted minds that reside there.

"You make is seem simple," Madge sighs, eyes tracing over the layout showing where Birdy and whoever she'd enlisted to help her had decided the explosives need to be placed under the mansion. Biting her lip, she looks up. "Do you think it's going to work?"

Birdy shrugs. "Maybe. Probably not."

Madge grinds her teeth. "If you don't think it's going to work then why are you helping?"

Shouldn't she believe what she's helping orchestrate is going to save lives?

Shrugging again, Birdy takes a drink, this time of water, sucking a piece of ice into her mouth as she does and crunching it thoughtfully.

"I think we need to do something, and this is the best we have. Everyone's family is at risk otherwise."

"Even yours," Madge murmurs sadly.

Shaking her head, Birdy spits a large chunk of ice back into her glass. "Not my family."

Before Madge can ask her what she means, Mr. Abernathy shudders awake, rubbing his pink eyes and glaring around in confusion.

"You still here?" He grumbles. "Damn it, girl, go darken someone else's doorstep already."

Ignoring him, Birdy begins gathering up her things.

"I'll be contacting the miners that are going to the Capitol and have them, and your surly boyfriend and his poor dad, meet here the night after the festivities. It'll be up to you to get that adorable baker-what's his name? Peeta, right?-here for me. You'll need help with this breaker thing and Daddy Dearest here probably won't be much help."

Shoving papers into her bag, she stands up and goes to the door, quietly slipping on her shoes.

"You won't be coming back before that?" Madge asks, a little let down. She'd felt so much more involved with Birdy there. Even though everything is still terrifying, for Gale, his family, Madge's family, she can feel a little hope creeping up inside her.

This isn't some slapdash plan that'll fall apart. Wiress and the other Victors in her group have clearly been working on this for a while, chiseled out every detail with care, and Madge's efforts for the District are shaping up to be not entirely in vain.

Despite what she'd thought, this plan has a chance of succeeding, more than a chance, and she's desperate to know more.

"I've got my official job to do," Birdy explains, straightening the strap of her bag and tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I only managed to get out to talk to you and Windy the Amazon because I may have slipped something in my Capitol watchdogs' drinks."

A wry smile twists up on Mr. Abernathy's lips.

"You never bring your fun stuff when I need to make a run for it," he says, half playfully.

Lips flicking up wickedly, Birdy pulls a ragged coat on. "I don't like you very much."

Mr. Abernathy lifts his almost empty bottle up and tilts his head, giving her a tiny salute. "Feeling is entirely mutual, sweetheart."

Rolling her eyes, Birdy opens the door, throwing a 'don't call me sweetheart' over her shoulder before vanishing out into the dark cold.

#######

Hazelle can't sleep.

She stays up after Asher goes to bed, mending some of Rory's socks to work off some nervous energy.

Seeing the plan, actual ink on paper with what appears to be several years, maybe decades, worth of effort, hasn't served to ease the tension twisting inside her about what her son and husband are tangled up with. It may be carefully thought out, but that doesn't help her fears.

Closing her eyes, she takes several deep breaths, trying to calm herself. It doesn't help though.

Her baby is going to go off on what may end up being a death march for a girl he hasn't even been dating that long.

"He loves her," Asher has told her, more than once.

"They haven't even been dating that long," Hazelle had snapped. "He can't love her."

She knew she'd sold her son's feelings short the moment the words left her mouth.

Gale isn't one to make a commitment without being willing to pour his heart into it. He wouldn't have agreed to accept Haymitch's help with the geology corps if he didn't love Madge, truly and completely. From that moment on, Hazelle had known he'd go to the ends of the earth for that girl, and it had terrified her.

What kind of mother would she be if she hadn't been frightened of a girl with the power to take her son away?

Madge is a good girl, sweet and kind, and Hazelle loves her dearly. She hates what's hanging over her and her mother's head, but she isn't good enough a person to be willing to sacrifice any of her babies for her.

Helping her might even cost her entire family their lives. If this plan fails, all of them will suffer, and truthfully, she'd resented Madge just a little for that at the beginning.

"I don't want Gale to get hurt," she'd sobbed on Hazelle's shoulder the day after Hazelle learned of the plan. "He won't listen to me. I'm trying to talk him out of this, I promise you I am, Mrs. Hawthorne."

Hazelle had wrapped her in a hug and shushed her. "I know, Madge, I know."

Their desire to keep Gale from sacrificing himself, which is what his mad plan amounted to, was a thread of connection between Hazelle and her son's girlfriend. She might hate the problems that the relationship had thrust upon them, and she might begrudge Madge's family for the troubles they bring with them, but she can't hate Madge. Not really.

"We're working on something," Gale has told her, several times, trying to assuage her fears. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you all."

While she's certain he's being sincere, he can't make that promise while simultaneously creating a cloud of danger, the reason that terrible things may come down on them.

Getting up, she checks in on Posy, sleeping soundly, before going to the boys' room.

Vick is curled into a ball and Rory is half off the bed, snoring softly with his face smashed into his pillow.

Smiling at them, she turns toward Gale's bed.

He'd outgrown it ages ago, but there's never been the money to get him a new mattress, and his feet are dangling off the end. On his stomach, (he's always slept like that, she thinks to herself, ever since he was a baby) he's out cold, letting out a rattling snore every few seconds.

Brushing some of his dark curls from his face, Hazelle smiles at him. He's enormous and handsome and still her baby.

And he's a good man.

Her baby isn't a baby. He's all grown up, brave and smart and he's going to save them all. She knows that somehow, watching him sleep noisily, his cheeks stained with dark stubble and a little bit of drool pooling by his mouth.

Madge and her connection with him may be what gave him this opportunity, but Gale would've found a way to fight with or without her. It's just how he is. This was inevitable, and suddenly she knows that.

As little as she likes it, Hazelle understands it.

Asher has fought back against the Capitol in his own quiet way since Gale was a baby, and now Gale is following his lead, albeit in a much more dangerous way.

She may not have much faith in the plan, but she has a great deal of faith in her son. Once he sets his mind to something, he succeeds; this time will be no different.

Leaning down, she presses a kiss into his hair.

"I love you, sweetie."

He must still be half awake, or he still talks in his sleep, because he murmurs something unintelligible into his pillow before rubbing his face with his hand, his stubble making a scratchy noise as he does.

Smiling, Hazelle backs out of the room and shuts the door, quietly padding into her room.

Slipping into bed, she snuggles into Asher, wrapping herself around him and burying her face in the back of his shoulder.

"Finally gave up on those socks, huh?" He mumbles as he rolls over.

Hazelle laughs softly. "Yeah."

A warm breath ghosts through her hair as he chuckles and snakes his arm around her, pulling her tightly against his body.

Settling her ear against his chest, she closes her eyes and tries to imagine a life where they aren't cuddling to fight off the cold, where her son isn't sleeping in a bed he doesn't even fit on, where her husband's soft-heartedness, handing out a coat that she could've patched up for Rory or Vick, doesn't wear her nerves thin.

That reality might be close, and she hopes it is. Gale and Asher are certainly going to try to make it so.

She hopes all of them are there to enjoy it if it does come.

"I love you," she whispers into his holey shirt, mentally cataloging all the hemming she's going to have to do to it tomorrow.

"Love you, too, H'zelle," he murmurs back, his voice thick with sleep.

Smiling to herself, Hazelle wiggles more tightly against him and closes her eyes.

Maybe her sleep will be a little more restful than it has been. She hopes so.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.

Gale gets up early after a restless few hours of sleep, dresses quietly, and then writes out a note to his dad letting him know that he's left to go check on Madge before work. He can't go down into the mines without knowing if that witch had gone up and terrorized her, whether Haymitch was there to protect her or not.

A frigid wind whips his coat, cutting through the thin material of his work clothes as he fights the spitting snow, down the winding roads of the Seam and then to the shelter of the trees lining the path up to the Victors' Village.

It seems to take twice as long to get there than usual, and by the time he reaches the break in the trees and spots the back porch light of Madge's house, he's soaked and shivering.

Nearly tripping on his frozen feet, Gale stiffly crosses the ice covered grass, hearing it crunch loudly under his feet, and then up the steps.

Once he's at the top, finally in the shelter of the overhang to the porch, he realizes he doesn't have a plan to actually get Madge's attention. Knocking isn't an option. If she's asleep she won't hear it, and if he knocks loudly enough to wake her he runs the risk of waking Haymitch and her mother as well, and he doesn't feel like explaining himself to either one of them at the moment.

Just as he's contemplating crawling onto the roof and over to her window, sitting in the icy mix to peek in and make sure she's still there and maybe wake her, the back door clicks open and the storm door makes an awful creaking noise.

Madge, still clad in her nightgown and a heavy looking housecoat, a pair of thickly knitted socks on her feet and her hair in a messy pile on her head, peers out at him from the dark kitchen.

"Gale?" She frowns, pulling her housecoat more tightly around her. Her eyes widen and she reaches out, grabbing him by the sleeve and yanking him through the doorway. "What are you doing here?"

She doesn't actually give him time to answer before she bites her lip and begins fretting over him.

"You're soaked!" She gasps as she grabs his arm again. "Gale, you're going to get sick. What were you thinking?"

As she begins unbuttoning his coat and tugging it off, muttering to herself that he's going to get hypothermia, Gale tries to explain himself through chattering teeth as he kicks off his frozen boots and lets his soggy hat fall to the floor.

"We had a v-visit-tor last-t-t night," he manages to tell her. "I w-w-wanted to mm-make sure she did-n't h'r-t-t you."

Eyebrows rising softly, Madge tilts her head.

"Birdy? She stopped by here too, but she was really helpful." She begins pushing him towards the living room. "I can't believe you came all the way up here. You have to be at work in what? Two hours?"

They step into the living room and Gale is instantly warmer, causing him to forget that she apparently likes the newest nuisance to descend on their District.

The fireplace is burning brightly with a crackling fire and there is a nest of blankets piled a comfortable distance away, by the scratched and nicked coffee table which is covered papers.

She pushes him toward the office and tells him to 'stay' before vanishing up the stairs and reappearing a minute later, arms full of clothes.

"Change into these and we'll let yours dry," she explains, shoving the set at him.

"Are these Haymitch's?" He asks, his teeth finally stopping chattering as he eyes the clothes suspiciously.

Madge rolls her eyes and sighs. "Just put them on. We do laundry, you know."

Still wary of putting on Haymitch's old underwear, no matter how many times Matilda has washed it, Gale takes the clothes and steps into the chilly office and begins stripping off his soggy clothes.

"Gale!" Madge squeaks, her hands shooting up and covering her eyes.

He stares at her, a little baffled. She did just tell him to change, didn't she?

"Let-uh-I'm gonna give you some-I'm gonna shut the door," she finally stammers out, turning and almost walking into the doorframe.

Gale watches the door gently click shut, still more than a little confused by Madge's sudden shyness, then finishes changing.

Gathering up his clothes, he opens the door and finds Madge, pink cheeked and flustered, waiting for him.

"I wasn't getting naked," he says, more than a little amused. It isn't like they haven't had their hands all over each other for months now, seeing what she's been pressing up against isn't any worse than that. At least not in his mind.

"I know," she mumbles, pressing the backs of her hands to her cheeks to cool them. "I-that was just more...skin, than I'm used to."

Gale can't help but grin. "Good to know Haymitch keeps his shirt on."

Rolling her eyes again, Madge takes his hand and pulls him back toward the fireplace and her lumpy mess of blankets.

"Wrap up," Madge orders him, pointing down at what must be her blankets. "I'll go make some coffee."

Still too stiff and cold to argue, Gale nods, tosses his clothes closer to the fire, and drops into the pile, grateful that while he's damp to the bones, he isn't filthy like he will be after work.

Pulling one of the blankets around his shoulders, Gale settles down, the haze of warmth and Madge's scent, clean and comforting, lulling him almost to sleep.

Madge startles him out of his stupor when she sets a warm cup down softly in front of him before kneeling down and giving him another scrutinizing once over. Her nose wrinkles up and she combs her fingers through his hair, pushing the wet strands from his face.

"You shouldn't have come up here."

Before she can chastise him again, Gale leans in and catches her lips. Maybe he shouldn't have come, but he did, and he thinks he deserves some small compensation for his trouble.

She's warm, tastes like chocolate and peppermint, and the combination unthaws Gale to the core.

He doesn't give her the chance to pull back and start questioning him again, just pulls her into his lap and wraps her in the blankets.

"Don't you have work today?" She finally asks, once she's settled against him, letting him leech warmth from her.

"Mmmm," Gale grunts, keeping his face into her shoulder.

He feels her shift, let out a long sigh, then relaxes a little before she begins to pull away.

Tightening his grip, he presses a kiss into her neck.

"I fought my way up here in a storm, the least you can do is sit still," he grumbles.

She laughs softly and Gale feels it vibrate through his chest.

"You're going to lie down and get a little sleep and I'm going to keep reading. I'll wake you when it's time to head out."

Refusing to loosen his grip, Gale glances over at the stairs.

"I don't know if I'm comfortable sleeping with Haymitch this close." Their odd little truce might not survive if he finds Gale sleeping on his living room floor with Madge so close. Gale might wake up a limb or two short, at best.

Madge snorts.

"Don't worry. He's out 'til at least noon with the weather like this. Him and my mother both." She tilts her head and grins up at him. "Besides, I'd protect you. Mr. Abernathy is a kitten, I promise."

Her reassurance isn't much, but seeing her safe and smiling, combined with the warmth of the fire and the blankets, makes his stinging eyes heavy and he finally lets her make him let her go and settle down in the nest.

With his head resting in her lap and her cool little fingers combing through his drying hair, Gale finally drops off into sleep.

#######

Madge twirls Gale's dark curls around her fingers as she continues to scan over the messy papers Birdy had left behind.

It's a dangerous plan. Using stolen explosives and destroying government property, all on the hope that Gale and the men that are going to be in the Capitol succeed in killing President Snow.

Letting her eyes drop from the table, down to Gale's peacefully sleeping face, she takes a deep breath.

He's going to succeed. Gale is too stubborn to fail. He knows how high that price is.

Madge and her mother will die in seconds during the Games, but that's the least of their troubles.

Everyone Madge involves in this plan, to carry it out when she's inevitably Reaped, Peeta and most likely Katniss, will be executed if they're caught. That will happen if Gale and the others fail.

Then there's Gale's family, every miners' family that helps with the plan, really. They'll be executed too, probably right alongside Peeta and Katniss, a grisly warning that the Capitol considers relations as culpable for the crimes as the family members themselves.

Shaking her head, Madge rubs her throbbing temple.

Gale won't fail. It isn't an option for him. His love for his family is his driving force.

As Gale rolls from his back, his cheek coming to a rest on her thigh as he settles on his stomach, his warm breath ghosting through the flannel of her nightgown, over her skin, a little smile ticks at the edges of Madge's mouth.

He loves her, too. He has to if he's willing to risk sacrificing so much for her and still fight his way through what seems to be a building blizzard just to make sure she's okay after a visit from someone he sees as dangerous.

Gale will fight as much for her as he will for his parents and siblings.

Setting the papers down, Madge relaxes back onto the leather of the chair and traces her fingertips over the stubble on Gale's cheek, enjoying the rough prickle of it against her skin.

This could be their life, if the Quarter Quell weren't looming in front of them, she thinks.

In couple of years, they might've been married. They'd get a house, issued from the government, of course. She'd be lying, though, if she said she didn't think Mr. Abernathy wouldn't pay off a few officials to make sure she didn't end up in the Seam.

Gale would be about to wake for work, just like now, though they'd be curled up together under a comforter in their bed, stealing each other's warmth and pretending Gale didn't have to leave soon.

Maybe Madge would be pregnant, the first of she and Gale's phantom children growing safely in her. The thought makes her blush, her cheeks burning imagining how that child would get in her in the first place.

Gale's mother would be a good grandmother, and his dad would put all other grandfathers to shame, she's certain of it. Her lips stretch into a giddy smile imagining Rory, Vick, and Posy, playing with their baby niece or nephew, fighting over its attention and trying to get it to say their name first.

Mr. Abernathy would be beside himself, and if his treatment of Madge is any indication, he'd spoil the poor child rotten.

Then her mother-

Shaking her head, Madge instantly squashes the blossoming thoughts.

At the moment, there is no marriage, no baby to spoil, and no future. Not unless they survive this.

Outside the wind howls, high and lonely and bone achingly cold, and Madge tucks the blankets a little more snugly around Gale. He'll be out in that mess, trudging in the wet, icy rain, soon enough. She wants him to be warm while he can, before he has to go out and be lowered into the mines again.

Her eyes get heavy as she stares at the flickering shadows dancing across Gale's peaceful expression, memorizing every detail.

This may be her only chance to do so.

#######

Gale wakes up to Madge's gentle, but insistent, kisses.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, a warm little puff against his ear. "You have to get up. Work, remember?"

He does. He isn't happy about it, but he does remember.

Grumbling to himself-how is it fair that Haymitch Abernathy gets to sleep in, wrapped up in what is probably a heavy and expensive comforter, while Gale has to change back into his probably still damp clothes and head to the mines?-Gale gets up and glares blearily out at the room.

"Fine," he mumbles, rubbing his hand over his face. "Where are my clothes?"

Madge ducks her face, trying to hide the magnificent blush that's burst onto her cheeks again, pretending to scratch her nose as she mutters, "By the fireplace."

As he starts to get up, losing the pleasant warmth of the blankets and Madge, he feels a cool hand grab him by the hem of the shirt.

"Just...keep those clothes, okay? I mean, yours are probably still a little wet, and you can just give me those back when you come back," she rattles off, avoiding eye contact with him.

It doesn't take Gale more than a second to figure out what she's doing.

"No," he tells her firmly, standing and stepping over the blankets and reaching for his clothes, draped over the screen in front of the fireplace.

Turning, he almost steps into Madge, who has stood and popped up behind him.

"But Gale..." She bites her lip and peeks up at him through her greasy bangs, the fire flickering enticing shadows over her face and glowing in her eyes. "These clothes are warmer, and it's still wet out, and Mr. Abernathy won't even notice-"

"I have my own clothes, Madge," he says, a little sharper than he intends, and her nose scrunches up at the rebuff.

Glaring up at the ceiling and cursing himself, Gale sighs.

"I don't need you to take care of me," he finally grumbles.

The instant the words pass his lips he knows by the look on her face he's said the wrong thing. Her lips thin, turning down at the edges sharply, and her eyebrows rise.

"You're taking care of me, why shouldn't I get to take care of you a little?"

For a second he tries to sift through his brain to counter her. The situations are completely different. Madge's life is in danger, the worst Gale is likely to get is a nasty cold.

The moment he opens his mouth to point that out though, he sees a shimmer in her eyes. Damn it.

They stand there, her staring up at him with her wide blue eyes and him feeling like a complete asshole, until she reaches out and wraps her fingers around the clothes in his hand.

He knows he can't really argue with her logic. She's right, after all. If their situations were reversed and she were the one going out to a dangerous and deadly job in what looks to be an ice storm, Gale would be doing everything in his power to layer her up in warm clothes before sending her off. He can't fault her for a natural instinct.

Reluctantly, he releases his grip on his still damp clothes, letting her take them and watching her mouth turn up.

"Don't get it in your head that this is going to be a regular thing," he warns her. Because he isn't going to make a habit of letting her raid Haymitch's disgusting closet on his behalf.

Smile brightening, she nods. "Let me get you some real pants." Her nose wrinkles up. "And a belt."

With that, she scampers off, back up the stairs, tossing Gale's clothes onto the couch as she does.

Gale scoots closer to the fire, letting the heat seep through the long underwear and flannel shirt Madge had supplied, before he has to leave.

When she finally reappears, she has a heavy pair of pants and a coat thrown over her arm and a thick pair of socks in her hand.

"Here," she holds them out. "I'll dry your other clothes and you can get them when you come back by."

Shrugging, Gale snatches his work shirt back from the couch. "I still need this. Otherwise I might forget my name."

Or they might not be able to identify his body, if they even bothered to look, in the event of a cave in. He keeps that thought to himself, though, she's clearly already worried enough.

Giving her a still irritable look, Gale takes the pants and slips them up the thermals covering his legs, cinching it up with the belt before putting on his shirt.

He starts buttoning it up, but freezes when Madge joins in, her pale fingers deftly join in, helping him dress.

It's a strange sort of feeling, almost like what he imagines every morning would encompass if their future weren't hurtling towards uncertainty. Waking up with his senses filled with Madge's delicate scent and her soft skin against his and then having her fuss over him, helping him dress in the quiet cold of their room.

He hopes the future they get, the future he's trying to secure, is better than that though.

Gale wants lazy mornings in bed without having to go out into the cold, down into a dark hole and mine for coal. He wants to not get dressed. He wants to stay curled up in front of their own fire for hours on end. He wants to erase all the tear tracks from Madge's face and never have them reappear.

More than anything, though, he wants for neither of them to have to worry about who has taken care of who.

Lurching forward, Gale catches Madge's lips before grabbing her around the middle and pulling her tightly against him.

Her hands find their way to his hair and Gale lifts her onto her toes.

His mind drifts from work, completely pushing the misery that waits for him to the back of his head as he lets his hands wander over Madge's back, increasingly lower the tighter he holds her to him.

Finally, she makes a small noise, then pulls back, a breathless smile forming on her lips.

"Gale..."

Huffing, Gale lets his hands drop a little lower. "I know, work, I'm going."

When he continues to stall, his fingers stealthily working her nightgown up as he presses kisses into her neck, she finally steps away, her hands flat to his chest, smoothing out his shirt where she'd wrinkled it.

"You can't be late."

Letting out a long, weary breath, Gale nods and lets her lead him back into the kitchen, to the back door.

Slipping on his boots then putting on his hat, warm from the fireplace, Gale straightens up and lets Madge zip up the new coat, then fasten it on top of that.

It's twice as heavy as his own coat, wind and waterproof probably, and will undoubtedly keep him warmer than he's ever been in his life. He hates it a little, because it's from the Capitol, something bought off the backs of people like him and his family. When he sees Madge's contented expression, though, as she takes in his appearance and smooths out nonexistent wrinkles on his chest, he can't hate it too much. She's happy because he's warm, at least for a while, and that's a promising start to the day.

Popping up on her toes, her lips press to the side of his mouth. "Have a good day."

Uncertain what to say, days are rarely good in the mines, Gale nods before leaning in and kissing her one last time before opening the door and heading into the gray and white cold.

#######

Asher bundles his thin coat up and pulls on his cap, his dark hair sticking out at odd angles.

"Be safe," Hazelle tells him, turning back from the window and handing him the tiny bit of lunch she could scrounge together for him and Gale.

He nods and leans in, kissing her cheek softly and giving her a small smile before stepping out into the icy morning.

"I don't know which is worse," he hears someone behind him grumbling. "Summer heat or this shit."

"Different day, same hell," someone answers.

Pushing his hands deeper into his pockets, Asher wishes Gale were here. He didn't realize how much he's grown to like having someone to break up the morning walk to the mines with grunts of acknowledgement and huffs of annoyance until now.

The walk seems to drag on, but when he nears the fenced area around the mines and spots Gale waiting, wearing strange clothes, he speeds up his steps.

"Whose clothes are you wearing?" He asks, squinting and frowning, when he finally gets in front of his son and takes in his unfamiliar pants and new coat.

"Madge, uh, she made me take them," he mutters, his eyes staying on the ground as he tugs his hat lower over his eyes.

Asher tries to fight off a smirk, but it finds its way onto his face anyway.

"Don't say anything," Gale grumbles, stuffing his hands into the pockets of the coat Madge had obviously forced on him.

"I wasn't going to," Asher says, the grin still frozen on his face. He reaches out and examines the material, good and thick, probably from the Capitol. "It's nice."

"It's going back as soon as my stuff is dried out." He turns toward the mines and starts walking. "Everything was soaked after I walked to the Village this morning."

They start toward the crew house to drop off their lunch, but stop when someone whistles behind them.

"Nice coat, Gale," Thom says as he comes up on Gale's right, and give the collar of the coat a tug. "I wish I were a kept man."

Gale shoots him a filthy look, tugging from Thom's grasp and increasing his pace.

"Stuff it, Thom."

Shrugging, Thom gives Asher a bright smile and mouths the word 'cranky', before jogging after Gale to needle him a little more, no doubt.

As they reach the building, they spot a crowd gathered around the announcement board.

Normally it's cluttered with useless updates, Capitol directives and less than motivating quotes. Nothing useful, nothing important.

"What's going on?" Jude asks as he comes up behind Asher, his face half hidden in a patched and frayed scarf pulled up over his nose.

"Recruits for the geological corps been put up," someone answers, unenthusiastically.

Jude turns to Asher, his eyebrows high on his forehead.

"Didn't Gale apply?"

Pressing his lips together, Asher nods and lets out a long breath, watching it hang in a white cloud in front of his face before disappearing.

He knows Gale's name is going to be on that list, Haymitch has guaranteed that. There's no reason for the knot of anxiety to be settling in Asher's stomach. He should be happy, even if it is a hollow victory, one that means nothing in the long run.

Still, after last night, meeting up with one of the architects of the plan to take down the Capitol, nothing seems to lighten his mood.

"Congratulations, Hawthorne," someone says gruffly, slapping him on the back.

Several more men give him small smiles and quick nods, acknowledging that at least one of his children has secured a life outside the mines.

A few other men, boys really, Gale's age mostly, get the same treatment, but Gale is the only one that hadn't been expected and his congratulatory pats on the back are a little more heartfelt. He's the son of one of them, not a legacy case. It's a little beacon of hope.

When Asher finally gets in the house, squeezing between men until he gets to where Gale is sitting, smiling sheepishly at his feet, he taps him on the shoulder and gives him a small smile.

"I don't deserve any of this," Gale whispers lowly to Asher after he finally gets away from Thom, who'd been telling anyone who would listen that he'd tutored Gale in geometry. "The deck was stacked in my favor. There wasn't even a chance I wouldn't get picked. I didn't earn it."

His thick eyebrows pull together and his lips thin, and Asher knows just what he's thinking.

"You knew this is how it was going to be," Asher reminds him.

Gale nods. "What if I took someone else's spot? Someone who was really qualified?"

It's a real concern, but probably unlikely. If anything, Gale had taken a legacy spot, not that that will make him feel any better. He's got a good heart, even if he lets his emotions blind him at times. He's suddenly realizing what letting Haymitch play with his life means.

Asher feels his heart constrict. What if, when the time comes, Gale realizes just what saving Madge will mean to their family?

Taking Gale by the shoulders, Asher forces him to look him in the eyes; he has to know what's going on in his son's head. Is the guilt going to last or pass quickly when he looks at the big picture?

"Gale, this doesn't matter."

Not really, not in the long run.

In a few months time, one way or another, Gale isn't going to be in the corps. There probably won't be a corps or mines or possibly even a District Twelve. This announcement is a distraction, nothing more.

Nodding, Gale's eyebrows pull together as he stares down at his shoes. "Yeah, yeah." Looking up, a ghost of a smile pushes up the edges of his mouth. "This is for Madge."

And that seems to calm his nerves.

Pulling him into a hug, Asher gives him a quick kiss on the head. "I'm proud of you."

Even if he hadn't earned his spot with grades or on his own merits, he had earned it. Gale had earned it the moment he'd decided to protect Madge and her mother, at least in Asher's mind. His character had won him the job, and that counts for more than Gale realizes.

Gale mumbles something that sounds like 'don't be', but Asher ignores him.

"Maybe Madge will want to come to the house for a celebratory dinner?" He finally asks to get Gale's mind off the announcement.

A little smile forms on Gale's face. "She might want to have us up to the Village, actually. Give her mother something to do."

Asher smiles and nods. "If that's what she wants, right?"

Rolling his eyes, Gale huffs, making a rough noise in his throat. "I'm not a pushover, if that's what you're saying."

"I would never imply such a thing," Asher defends himself, trying to force his smile down. "How warm is that coat, by the way?"

Gale gives him one last filthy look before stepping onto the elevator and crossing his arms.

"Pretty damn warm."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.

Asher makes Gale come home to tell Hazelle the good news.

"You can go see Madge after dinner," he tells him. "Your mother won't want to hear the news from Sanderson's gossip of a wife."

A bit reluctantly, Gale trudges back to the house after the final bell releases them, receiving a few more congratulations along the way and smiling sheepishly at each.

Once they're away from the others, Jude giving Gale one last 'glad you got it', Gale's smile slips off.

"I feel like a fraud."

Giving him another pat on the back, Asher sighs. "You earned this. Differently-"

"Cheating-"

"You knew what you were getting into," Asher cuts him off, a little tersely. "You decided Madge was worth it. You changing your mind?"

Stopping mid-step, Gale scowls. "No, I'm just-I don't know." He takes off his cap and runs a hand through his hair, standing it on end. "I didn't think it would bother me so much."

Taking the cap from Gale's hand, Asher gently puts it back on his head, smiling at the curls of hair that wildly stick out.

"It's temporary, just keep that in mind," he reminds Gale. "Come the Reaping, none of this is going to matter."

For a few minutes they just stand there, the icy wind cutting through Asher's clothes and stinging his face, as he waits for the reality of the situation to settle on Gale.

When a particularly strong gust of wind nearly takes Asher's cap off, Gale seems to realize how cold his dad must be, and shakes his head, sending the wary thoughts away and smiling.

"Yeah, you're right."

As the wind picks up, they make their way to the house, opening the door and letting in a cold spray of rain and ice, newly started, before they can fight the door shut.

Rory and Vick are at the table, blankets wrapped around them as they finish up what Asher assumes is their homework. They barely glance up as Gale and Asher shake cold water onto the thin rug at the entry.

Just as Asher pulls off his coat, Hazelle and Posy appear from the bedroom. Posy is damp, probably fresh from her bath, and wearing a pair of newly made socks.

"Daddy!" She squeals as she runs from the doorway and launches herself at Asher, flinging her arms around his middle. "Hold me!"

Despite his aching bones and frozen muscles, Asher lifts Posy up, settling her on his hip as she rests her head on his shoulder.

"I took'd a bath," she tells him helpfully. Her nose wrinkles up as she takes in his and Gale's appearance. "You an' Gale should too."

Hazelle comes over and takes Posy from him, giving both of them a tired look.

"Yes, they should, which is why you shouldn't have daddy hold you, Pose," she tells her as she rubs a smudge of coal dust from Posy's cheek.

Giving Asher a quick kiss, Hazelle turns and frowns at Gale. She's apparently already noted his new clothes.

"What are you wearing?" Vick asks from the table, before Hazelle has a chance. His face scrunched up in confusion.

This gets Rory's attention, which had been wholly on a doodle on his homework, and his head snaps to the door.

A slow, knowing smile crawls up Rory's features and his eyes glow. He's about to say something that Asher, Hazelle, and Gale will all regret.

"I wondered where you went," he starts, innocently enough. "How bad did Madge tear up your clothes this morning, Gale?"

Posy, mercifully, doesn't understand, just wrinkles up her nose and squints at Rory for a minute before looking to Hazelle.

"Why would Madge tear up Gale's clothes?" She asks. "Madge likes Gale."

"That's why," Rory answers, despite the looks all three adults are shooting at him.

Vick's face has gone red as he doubles over with laughter, knocking his pencil to the floor and losing his blanket in the process.

"Boys," Hazelle chastises them as she turns, putting them both at Posy's back. "Stop."

Asher gives them a warning glare, but Vick's giggling has already worked Rory up and he's stopped paying attention.

"Did she have to replace all your clothes?" He sputters out. "Underwear too?"

The confusion on Posy's face doubles.

"What happened to Gale's underwear?" She asks.

"Nothing," Asher quickly tells her.

Before Rory can say anything to counter his parents, Gale stomps over and pulls the chair out from under him, sending him sprawling on the floor, still laughing.

For his part, Vick tries to calm himself, coughing and sputtering as he attempts to smother his laughter, but the damage is done. Posy is already off and asking questions.

"Did Gale go see Madge this morning? That's not very nice to go to somebody's house in the dark. Her mommy and daddy wouldn't like it." She takes a long breath. "And why did she take Gale's clothes and tear them up? Momma, we need to tell her it isn't nice to rip people's clothes up. Gale would be all naked!"

Rory is howling, hiding under the table from Gale.

After nearly ten minutes of Hazelle trying to explain to Posy that Rory is being silly, again, while Asher gives Rory what feels like his hundredth talking to about what is and isn't appropriate to imply in front of anyone, they finally get the situation under control.

"A week?" Rory huffs when Asher and Hazelle give him his punishment. A week of being grounded. He glances out the window, at the spitting rain and drizzle, and shrugs. "Yeah, sounds good."

"Should've made it two," Asher mutters to Hazelle as he helps her set up the table for dinner.

When they finally set down, with Gale glaring daggers at an obnoxiously smirking Rory, Asher only just barely remembers to remind Gale the reason he'd come home to see his mother before rushing off to Madge in the first place.

"They posted the new recruits for the geological corps," he tells Hazelle offhandedly.

She freezes, her spoon halfway into her bowl of thin soup as she lifts her eyes to Asher. Slowly she looks to Gale, her smile widening.

"Oh, sweetie," she gets up, forgetting her soup, and rushing around the table to pull Gale into a hug. "I'm so proud of you."

"I'm proud of you, too," Posy adds, nodding importantly. She turns to Asher. "Why am I proud?"

"Did Gale get into the corps?" Vick asks, looking between his brother and dad. "Nobody told me he was applying."

"He wasn't," Rory cuts in, eyeing Gale suspiciously. "Gale's about as good at math as he is at shaving. No way they'd let him in. Gotta be a typo."

"I do just fine at math," he tells Rory curtly. "I just didn't like school."

"And that's what they look at," Rory points out, still unconvinced. "Did someone change your grades?"

"That's enough, Rory," Asher firmly quiets him. "Gale got in and you should be happy. It might help you someday."

His face still screwed up in disbelief, Rory's mouth snaps shut and he dips his spoon into his soup. The explanation isn't enough for him, Asher knows that. Rory and Vick both ask a lot of questions, they're just at that age. Unlike Posy, they won't take distraction.

Asher, Hazelle, and Gale are going to have to come up with a good story, very quickly.

#######

After they get Rory to drop the topic of Gale's good fortune, dinner goes smoothly. Mostly.

Gale listens as his mother excitedly discusses hemming up his pants and pressing his dress shirt.

"We'll have to make do with few we have," she says, a bit disappointedly.

"Maybe he can just get Madge to give him more," Rory mutters, so that only Gale can hear, earning him a kick in the shins.

When dinner finishes up, Rory has to help with dishes while Gale helps Vick with the last of his homework and their dad plays a game with Posy.

"Are you excited?" Vick asks him quietly as Posy chatters nonsense at their dad behind them.

Smiling slightly, Gale nods. He is. Little as he may deserve the spot, he is excited. None of the men in his family have ever had such a choice position, and the new status, were it not a useless title, considering what will be happening in a few months, could help both his brothers someday.

"I'm excited for you, too," Vick admits. He cuts the sullenly dish drying Rory a look and grins. "Rory is too. He's just being a jerk right now."

Rolling his eyes, Rory's been a jerk for a couple of years now and it doesn't look likely to change anytime soon, Gale nods again. "Yeah, I know."

Tapping his pencil on his paper, Vick chews his lip and considers the question in front of him before looking at Gale again.

"What did happen to your clothes?" He asks lowly, a timid whisper.

Trying not to groan, Gale sits back in his seat.

"They got wet," he answers truthfully. "That's it."

Vick cocks an eyebrow. "You can tell me. I won't tell Rory, honest."

"That is the truth, Vick," Gale tells him, glaring at the back of Rory's head. He's made Vick too suspicious.

Giving Gale a disappointed frown, certain he's withholding juicy details from him, Vick sighs and goes back to his homework.

#######

Rory gets sent to bed early, part of his punishment; though he looks like he thinks his prodding was worth the outcome, if his grin is any indication.

Vick and Posy are next, shortly after, mostly because Posy gets cranky and Vick was a royal pain to get up that morning.

"I let you stay up too late," Hazelle tells him.

Scowling and muttering that he isn't a baby, Vick stalks off to bed, shutting the door loudly behind him as he does.

As soon as they're all behind closed doors, Gale gets up and starts for the door, scooping up his boots and dropping into a kitchen chair to put them on.

"You're going out?" Hazelle asks, staring at the cold dark outside and the making a face at the noise of sleet slapping the windows and roof.

Asher cringes. He'd almost hoped Gale would decide against a trip up to the Village. Clearly wasted breath.

"I wanna see Madge," Gale explains, plopping his cap on and pulling it down to cover his ears. "Let her know about the corps."

"You really want to go out in this?" Hazelle continues, the lines at the edges of her eyes growing with the worry on her face.

Gale stands and walks over to her, leaning over the back of the couch where she's sitting and folding laundry for a client in Town. It's something both Asher and Gale hope will be a fading memory in a few months.

"Yes, I do."

It may not be a surprise for Madge, anything but really, that Gale has made the cut, but he still wants to get a congratulations from her. Asher supposes he's earned it.

Hazelle makes another face, but doesn't question it further.

"When you planning on getting back?" Asher asks, glancing at the window and cringing. He's glad the girl he loves isn't a good long walk away, through a storm.

Gale shrugs. "Late."

With that and a smile, Gale vanishes out the door and into the storm.

"I wish he wouldn't go," Hazelle sighs, shaking out a shirt and making a sharp crease. "Madge wouldn't want him to get pneumonia just to tell her what she already knows is coming."

Reaching in her basket, Asher pulls out a crisp white shirt and starts to help her, only to have her take it back from him and correct the creases.

"You remember how it was when we were young," he gently starts. "A little ice storm isn't anything when you're young and invincible."

She smiles tightly, smoothing out the shirt in her lap.

"I remember, Ash." She smiles softly. "And I know they love each other and want to see each other, but he's being a little ridiculous going out in this. He's going to get stuck up there."

Settling down in the battered couch, Asher pulls Hazelle to him and kisses her hair, inhaling the scent of soap that clings to her.

"Love's a little ridiculous sometimes." He grins. "Besides, I think Gale might want to get stuck up there."

He feels her huff, the warmth of her breath brushing over the fabric of his shirt, then shift, pressing a hand into her forehead. "Don't put thoughts like that in my head."

Asher chuckles. "It how I'd've thought at his age."

Snuggling closer into his side, she laughs. "I know."

#######

Madge is curled up on her bed, wrapped in half a dozen quilts, with a book propped up on her pillow. 'The Moon Is Down', Steinbeck, one of her favorites.

Mr. Abernathy had brought it to her after her first Reaping, telling her it was banned, but that he'd pulled a few strings for her.

"You'll like it," he'd told her. "Very uplifting."

At first she hadn't really understood what he meant, the story didn't seem particularly uplifting to her, just dark and dreary.

The second, and subsequent readings, made his meaning more clear.

Lose the battle, win the war. People fighting for their freedom and not losing hope. Uplifting indeed.

Licking her fingers, she flips a page.

Her eyes have only just started to skim the first line at the top when the continuous popping of the sleet against her bedroom window is interrupted by a hollow knock that startles her into kicking her book off the bed.

Almost tumbling off the bed herself, Madge spins, expecting to find a tree branch resting against the glass.

Instead, she finds Gale, hands gripping the sides of the frame, cold rain dripping off the bill of his hat and down his face.

"Gale!" She gasps, covering her mouth and muffling the noise.

Jumping from the bed, she trips in the tangle of blankets as she rushes to the window and unlocks it, pushing it open and pulling Gale in.

He's wet, though the coat she'd given him that morning seems to have kept the rain on the outside instead of sinking through to his skin.

"What are you doing up here?" She whispers as she scampers to the bedroom door and flips the lock. The last thing she needs is Mr. Abernathy or her mother waking up, wandering in and catching her with a soggy boy in her room. She'd never hear the end of it from her giddy mother and Mr. Abernathy would be...she isn't even sure she has a word for just what his reaction would be.

Some kind of fit, she's sure of it.

"They posted the recruits for the corps," he tells her, just barely managing to keep his voice from breaking and his teeth chattering. "I wanted to tell you."

While she appreciates that he wanted her to know before the Harvest Festival tomorrow, before Wiress inevitably shows up and sucks the joy out of the day, the weather is atrocious. It could've waited.

Instead of berating him, which he wholeheartedly deserves, she pops up on her toes and kisses his scratchy cheek.

"Congratulations."

Before he can distract her with his lips, and she has no doubt that's what he's planning when he tilts his head and tries to catch her mouth, Madge starts unbuttoning his coat. "You're dripping everywhere."

Looking decidedly disgruntled, Gale helps her peel off his coat, then drops down and unlaced his boots, carefully keeping the mud and muck from flinging on her floor.

Once he's down to his dry layers, he grabs her around the middle, causing her to squeak in surprise.

"You're warm," he murmurs into her neck, his cold nose grazing her ear.

"And you're freezing," Madge grumbles, backing up and grabbing his icy hands. She needs to dig him out some gloves.

Pulling him along, she yanks him around and pushes him onto the bed before snatching up her blankets from the floor and tossing them on him.

"Hey!" He snorts as he pushes the blanket off his face. "I fight my way up here to give you good news and my thanks is you trying to smother me?"

Madge plops onto the bed in front of him and gives him a tired smile.

"I'm trying to warm you up," she sighs. "And I'm happy they finally posted the recruits."

Even if she was all but certain Gale had a spot, there was always that tiny bubble of doubt that something would go wrong. Mr. Abernathy's old 'friend' might back out or have lied, or even the paperwork could get messed up. Anything was possible.

Not that any of it matters. Spot or no spot, when the Reaping rolls around, Gale's job title won't matter.

Still, it is a bright spot in an otherwise dreary day, which is smack in the middle of an otherwise miserable year.

"I'd be a lot warmer if you got under here with me," he mumbles, shifting grumpily under the pile.

Madge snorts. "Weren't you worried about Mr. Abernathy this morning?"

"Didn't you promise to protect me from him this morning?" He counters.

Rolling her eyes, Madge starts to crawl beside him, nudging the blankets open.

"Protecting you from him in the living room is a lot different than in my bedroom." Because there's no telling what horrible things Mr. Abernathy would think they were doing behind closed doors. Nothing he'd approve of, that's for sure. "But since he turned in an hour ago, I think we'll be safe. Just be quiet."

Gale stretches out, the quilt just barely covering his feet, as he wraps his arms around Madge, pressing her tightly against his side.

"I'll try."

He's much warmer now, though his hands are still a little chilly as they graze along her shoulders where her nightgown has gone askew, causing her to shiver.

Slowly warming and increasingly comfortable, Madge feels her eyes grow heavy.

"When do you have to be home?" She asks through a yawn.

Beside her, Gale's shoulders rise and fall. "I'm a grown man. I don't have a curfew."

A little laugh bursts out, and Madge glances up, giving him a small, apologetic smile. "Do you really want your poor mother to worry?"

Tightening his arms, one of Gale's hands wanders a little low on her back, tugging hopefully at her gown. "I told her I'd be late."

How late late is, Madge isn't sure, but she gets the impression that as long as he gets home before either of his brothers wake, he'll be happy with his timing skills.

"I'll figure it out later."

Letting her fingers skim along a sliver of skin on his stomach, just barely peeking out where his shirt has ridden up, Madge sighs.

Worrying about what time he's going to get home, when there's no work the next day and her door is securely locked, seems silly and pointless when she's so contented, so she lets her eyes drift shut. They'll figure it out later.

#######

When Haymitch wakes up it's to the calming scent of lavender.

Peaking an eye open, he sees steam wafting out of his bathroom, thick and inviting.

"I'm not getting gussied up for them, 'Tilda," he tells her, even though he can't see her. She's there somewhere, probably setting out his clothes like he's a child.

Her blonde head pokes out, half-lidded eyes watching him lazily from around the bathroom door.

"Please, Haymitch," she pouts, her eyebrows slanting down sadly. "That awful woman called last year and yelled for ages because you didn't shave..." She sighs and steps around the door, a pair of Haymitch's nicest pants gripped in her hands. "I don't want her to yell again."

Groaning, he'd almost forgotten about that, Haymitch throws his comforter off and sits up, glaring at the pale white sunlight filtering in through his curtains and fighting off a shiver. He doesn't care if it's the Harvest Festival or that the newest Victor is coming through to give a canned speech, or even that Wiress is going to turn up at the least convenient time to discuss her plan, all he cares about is that he's going to have to leave his warm bed and dress up and be around people he'd happily watch drown.

His only consolation is that he can steal some of the Mayor's better liquor. The only bright spot of the day.

"Only for you, sweetheart," he tells Matilda as he snatches his pants from her and starts to stalk into the bathroom.

"Do you want me to join you?" She asks, a lazy little grin slowly growing on her face.

Just as his mind catches up with her words, enough to articulate a 'huh?', he hears the screen door screech downstairs.

Forgetting his and Matilda's little game, his eyebrows pinch together and he glares at the floor.

"I heard it for sure this time," he tells her.

The morning before he'd heard something, but Matilda had convinced him it was just the wind.

"Madge is downstairs-"

"She didn't go outside, Haymitch," she'd drowsily reminded him, burrowing deeper in her blankets. "Go back to sleep."

A bit reluctantly, he had, but he'd asked Madge about it when he'd gotten up.

"I didn't hear anything," she'd said, mixing him a cup of coffee. "Maybe you should have your hearing checked when you go to the Capitol next."

He'd dropped the subject after that, but now he thinks he shouldn't have. These girls are sneaky.

Tossing his pants onto the bed, he stomps out of the bedroom and glances down the hall, and when he sees Madge's door propped open, cold sunlight spilling through the opening and onto the runner on the wood floor, he huffs and heads down stairs.

Matilda floats after him, looking thoroughly unconcerned, down the stairs and into through the living room and to the kitchen.

Hawthorne, the brooding little bastard, is sitting at Haymitch's kitchen table, his coat and boots already off. The fact that he's a quick undresser does nothing to endear him to Haymitch.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He asks. It's too damn early. Doesn't he have any concept of when an acceptable time to call on a lady is?

Scowling, Hawthorne's nostrils flair. "I wanted to tell Madge they posted the recruits. I made it."

Haymitch whirls his finger skyward. "Whoopty-do. Shock of the century." He rolls his eyes. "That bit of non-news couldn't've waited until later?"

Like at the Festival. Or next week.

"Haymitch," Matilda gently chides him before giving the brat an airy smile. "That's lovely, dear."

Hawthorne smiles back at her, but when his eyes cut to Haymitch, it morphs into something of a smirk. Bastard.

"Yeah," Haymitch snorts. "Fabulous." He Points at the door. "Now get. We have a festival to get ready for."

And Haymitch can't shower until he's certain Mr. Congeniality is well on his way home. He may trust him to save Madge, but he doesn't trust him or his speedy undressing skills to be unsupervised with her. Maybe ever.

Madge gives him a disappointed little frown, but it drops when Hawthorne wraps his hand around hers and gives it a squeezed.

"I should get going," he tells her, kissing her knuckles and almost causing Haymitch's last few meals to make a reappearance. "I'll see you at the Festival."

Cheeks a vivid pink, Madge nods and pulls him from the chair, leading him to the door.

His boots are toppled over, like they were thrown, and his coat is only just barely hanging on Matilda's hook. Sloppy, just what Haymitch expects from a boy trying to pull a fast one. He'll have to ask Bird to watch him a little more closely. Perfect gentleman is definitely not what Gale Hawthorne is, clearly the kid is slipping.

After a few agonizingly long minutes, of Hawthorne pecking little kisses onto Madge's lips and cheeks, ignoring Haymitch's irritable grumbles, the boy finally leaves, letting a cold burst of air cut into the kitchen in his wake.

Giving the door one last good scowl, Haymitch turns to leave, stopping when Madge makes an exasperated little noise.

"He was just excited," she tells his back. "Nothing wrong with being excited."

Huffing, Haymitch turns and gives her a soured look. "It was never a question if he was going to get it, kiddo. There's not much to be excited about. I did all the work."

"And thank you for that." A little smile gracing her face before he eyes widen. "Wait. Are you jealous?"

Rolling his eyes, Haymitch turns to go back upstairs. He needs to get to that bath Matilda made him before it gets cold. That lavender is all that's going to keep him from throttling Madge's dumb as dirt boyfriend during the Harvest Festival.

"You are jealous," Madge almost laughs.

Matilda stops him, her cool little hands wrapping around his wrist and holding him in place. "Oh, Haymitch, don't sulk."

Trying to cross his arms, but unable to with Matilda still latched onto his wrist, Haymitch glares at them. He isn't jealous of the little shit stain and he isn't sulking. He's irritated and displaying his agitation in an adult manner, by stomping off and taking a calming bubble bath.

Grinning, Madge crosses the room and flings her arms around him, tilting her head up, chin in his chest. "Thank you, Mr. Abernathy."

Practically falling onto them, Matilda pins Haymitch's free arm down, her nose pressing into his shirtsleeve.

Feeling a little put upon, he shouldn't be guilted into accepting praise, even if he does deserves it, Haymitch wiggles his arms free and wraps them around Madge and Matilda.

"I'm not jealous," he grumbles, kissing Madge's hair, which is a little wilder than usual. Turning his head, he kisses Matilda's temple. "And I'm not sulking."

"Of course you aren't," Madge's muffled voice laughs.

Grunting, he lets them go. "Oh, leave me alone. I have a bath to take."

As he's half a step out of the kitchen, he hears Madge call to him.

"By the way, I invited Gale and his family up after the Festival, for dinner."

Turning, Haymitch deflates a little. "All of them?"

Madge nods. "Yeah. I thought we could celebrate, and since, uh, you know, your friends haven't contacted us, I figured it would be okay."

Letting out a long groan, Haymitch starts to lumber off, not bothering to tell her that his supposed friends don't communicate like sane individuals, and that Madge inviting the entire Hawthorne family is probably playing into some part of a convoluted plan that Wiress put together on the fly.

Instead, he runs a hand over his face and sighs. "Great. All the idiots in one room. My day is complete."

Matilda smiles airily, her eyes glowing. "Madge and I'll make a cake."

Haymitch eyes her warily. "Let's just order one from Mellark."

He loves her and Madge, he really does, but baking isn't one of their strengths.

Leaving them in the kitchen to plot, Haymitch climbs the stair, mentally calculating just how much liquor he's going to have to swipe from the Mayor to get him through the night.

#######

Jude holds the umbrella high over his and Valencia's head while Katniss, looking disgusted at having to stand in the rain, keeps the one above her and Prim's head low, hiding their faces from everyone but him.

"Why can't they just show it as a mandatory program?" Katniss grumbles.

"You know why," Jude tells her. "Let's just get through this."

It's cold and wet, miserable, but there isn't a way out of it. Unlike Haymitch Abernathy, Jude doesn't have the power to keep any of his family from having to attend.

Narrowing his eyes, Jude watches the Victor, standing and looking a bit bored as the newest member of his exclusive club, the giant of a boy from District Eleven, gives an uninspired speech as the drizzle drips off the rim of his hat and onto his dark face.

The night before, after Prim and Valencia had dropped off to sleep and Jude and Katniss had been sipping their mint tea to keep the hunger, from not being able to get into the woods for nearly a week, at bay, a soft little knock had echoed through the living room.

"Who would be coming around at this time?" Jude asked, more to himself than Katniss.

With Katniss following along behind him, a butter knife in her hand, Asher had gone to the door and slowly opened it, uncertain what he was going to find.

Instead of a Peacekeeper, which happens more often than not in his nightmares, there's a girl.

She's young, too young to be out in the weather and dark by herself, and she's wet, her soggy hair hanging in her eyes and her dress clinging to her uncomfortably. Without a word, she holds out an envelope to him.

When he doesn't take it, only stares at it in confusion, she gives it an impatient shake and huffs. "It's cold and I'm annoyed, take the damn thing."

She looks a little too young to be using that kind of language, but she isn't his kid, so he takes it, giving her a curious look. "What is it?"

Her eyebrows rise and she rolls her eyes. "Can't you read? Open it and find out."

With that and a sniffle, she turns and vanishes into the dark.

Frowning at the space she'd vacated, Jude shuts the door and turns back to Katniss.

They both eye the envelope cautiously before Jude takes a breath and opens it.

There's a letter, plain and white, with a date and a time on it, followed by an address. Haymitch Abernathy's address.

That isn't the most interesting thing in the envelope though.

A picture, no bigger than the palm of Jude's hand, falls to the floor.

Jude's heart stops.

On it, Jude's own face, alongside Katniss', shine out at him as they climb under the fence.

Where the picture came from, he isn't sure, but he is sure that it could be a death sentence. If anyone got their hands on it, turned into the Peacekeepers, both Jude and Katniss would be whipped, or worse. People have been punished with less evidence than a crystal clear photo of them defying the Capitol.

The message was clear; Jude and Katniss were to be at Haymitch Abernathy's house up in the Victors' Village after the Harvest Festival. What the consequences of not appearing are, he isn't sure, but he's sure he doesn't want to find out.

The boy finishes his speech, wiping cold rain from his face and forcing a smile for the crowd, which rewards him with unenthusiastic applause, before the Mayor steps onto the podium.

He's a somber man, stony faced and bored as he reads off some kind of proclamation from the Capitol before dismissing those gathered for the 'exciting' occasion.

When he finishes, Prim and Valencia press into his sides and steer him back toward the Seam while Katniss trails a few steps behind.

There are no festivities to partake in; it's too cold and dreary for any of the normal end of the festival activities, not that Jude minds. He's too preoccupied with what may wait them in the evening to want to dance or pretend to enjoy himself.

"Where'd Katniss go?" Prim asks, stopping them at the edge of Town.

"She's-" Jude turns to point behind him, but frowns when Katniss isn't there.

Squinting out into the gray afternoon, he finally spots her, arms crossed and face set, talking to the youngest of the baker's sons.

Jude isn't sure what his name is, but he's certain the boy has some kind of infatuation with Katniss. It's both cute and disconcerting.

While Katniss is strong enough to survive on her own, Jude doesn't want her to have to. On the other hand, he isn't too excited for any boy to show her attention. Even if he is a nice enough kid, like Mellark's.

Prim makes a sighing noise. "Oh, look, he's giving her something!"

Sure enough, the Mellark boy is handing Katniss something, small and wrapped up in a plain brown bag. She frowns, her face pinching up as she examines it, then tries to hand it back, shaking her head.

He puts his hands up, refusing it with a smile as he backs away, careful to stay under the awning of the building they're in front of.

Katniss, looking annoyed, scowls at the package before stalking off, towards her family.

"What did he give you?" Prim asks as Katniss passes them.

"Nothing," Katniss answers, stuffing it in her pocket and continuing on, moving so fast her umbrella is almost useless.

Valencia gives Jude a small smile, then tugs him on.

By the time they get home, Prim has wheedled out of Katniss that Peeta, apparently the boy's name, had given her a small loaf of bread.

"He said he made it from scraps so it wouldn't go to waste," Katniss explains, looking increasingly irritable.

"That's sweet," Valencia tells her, taking it from Katniss loose grip.

"That's weird," Katniss grumbles. "He's weird."

Prim rolls her eyes and goes to the kitchen table, to help Valencia spread some of the goat cheese on the bread, while Katniss drops onto the couch with Jude.

"It is weird," she tells him. Her eyes cut to him, worried. "Right?"

He nods. "It's whatever you think it is."

She sighs, crossing her arms and scowling at the television, which had clicked to life moments after they'd walked in the door.

"Any ideas what Haymitch wants with us?" She finally asks to get her mind off the bread now toasting in the kitchen.

Jude shakes his head. He wishes he had any sort of idea, but even staring down the old Victor as they all stood in the rain, hadn't brought him any closer to an answer.

Putting his arm around her shoulder, he pulls her over and rests his cheek against her hair. "I wish I did."

#######

Madge had stood with them while the boy from Eleven gave his speech.

She'd stood out a bit, wearing a well made, though pleasantly plain, coat that Haymitch had undoubtedly brought her from the Capitol. He'd at least had the presence of mind to have bought her one that wasn't vibrant and covered in glitter.

"We get to go to Madge's house, daddy?" Posy asks, for what feels like the hundredth time as they say goodbye to Madge and head back toward the Seam to get ready. "I get to wear my princess dress?"

Asher scoops her up and tickles her. "Yes, pumpkin. You can wear your princess dress."

Hazelle sighs.

Posy's 'princess dress', a pink, frilly little thing that had been among the simpler dresses Madge had sent to her what felt like a lifetime ago. Hazelle had forbidden her from wearing it out, mostly to keep their good fortune quiet. People talk, and when people talk, thieves listen. Even if it was clear that dresses for a little girl was the most expensive thing they had, that wouldn't keep the wild imaginations of District Twelve's less reputable citizens from thinking otherwise. The plainer dresses they could brush off as good trading, the 'princess dress' they had no way of explaining.

She'll have to bundle Posy up to hide her clothes, but she supposes if it gets the desire to wear it out of her system. It won't be easy, but it will be worth it.

When Gale had come home, barely making it in before Rory and Vick woke up and realized he hadn't been home all night, she'd known the day wasn't going to be easy.

"Late, huh?" Asher had greeted him.

"We just fell asleep," Gale defended himself, though Hazelle thinks he still looked a little guilty. "Honest."

Honestly, Hazelle wouldn't want to know if they hadn't just fallen asleep. She's still his mother, and the less she knows about that particular part of his life, the better.

"I can't believe they haven't gotten in touch with us," Asher had complained, once Gale had settled at the table and told them about Madge asking the family up for dinner, just as he'd predicated.

"Maybe they ran into trouble," Gale points out. "Maybe they just weren't ready in time."

Both likely, but worrying.

As dinner looms closer, Hazelle's mind begins to form worst possible scenarios, all ending in her family's execution.

"Momma, fix my hair," Posy demands, holding out a pink ribbon that had been fastened to the dress.

Worn fingers aching, Hazelle combs Posy's dark hair up into a ponytail and ties it up. "There."

Looking pleased, Posy skips off and shows Asher, who is trying to help Gale with the frayed end of his bootlaces.

"Gale didn't come to bed last night," Rory says as he plops down beside Hazelle. He crosses his arms and flops against the flat cushions of the couch. "I know we probably aren't supposed to talk about it, but I just wanted you to know, I'm aware."

Vick, looking vaguely uncomfortable, settles in next to her, wrapping an arm around her middle and burying his face in her side. Clearly he's letting Rory lead this little trouble making scheme. Smart boy.

Hazelle pinches the bridge of her nose. "I get the feeling there's a reason you're bringing this to my attention."

Rory grins. "I just want the same level of freedom when I get a girlfriend."

Vick snorts. "If."

Hazelle barely manages to keep from laughing, not necessarily at Vick's comment, but more at Rory's look of offence.

"When," he says again.

Vick peeks up at Hazelle, battling down a smile, and mouths the word 'if' again.

Sensing a violent clash brewing, and desperate to have them both look more or less presentable, Hazelle kisses Vick's hair and whispers 'we'll talk about it' to Rory before standing up and pulling them both with her.

"Let's go," she tells them as she snatches up her coat and throws it on before helping Vick with his fasteners.

As Gale leads them out, Vick and Rory pestering him with questions that Hazelle is sure Asher is going to have to tell them aren't polite to ask anyone in public, Hazelle gives the house one last once over.

"Something wrong?" Asher asks her, trying to keep a squirming Posy from slipping into the freshly fallen snow.

Taking a deep breath, Hazelle shakes her head. "Just-I just have a strange feeling about tonight."

Like something very big and possibly very bad is about to happen.

Hoisting Posy onto his hip, Asher leans over and kisses Hazelle's cheek.

"We're eating with Haymitch Abernathy, it's a surreal experience." He smiles. "It's going to be okay."

Giving him a tense smile, Hazelle nods. "I hope so."


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.

Gale convinces Rory that it's in his physical best interest not to mention his early morning vanishing, or his late night disappearances, while in anyone's presence, most of all Haymitch's.

"Are you threatening me?" He asks, his face pulled back in mock disgust. "I'm your brother! Your flesh and blood!"

"And anyone who's met you would be sympathetic." Gale is sure he'd have the shortest 'not guilty' trial in the history of Panem once Rory was identified as the victim.

While that shuts Rory up, Gale has no doubt he's going to hear about his brother's newfound knowledge again someday. He's is nothing if not devious and manipulative.

When they get to the Victors' Village, Posy squeals in delight, racing through the dark path up the center of the Village and up the steps to the front porch.

It's a little strange to Gale, going in the house through the front. He's always gone in through the back, and, more recently, Madge's bedroom window.

Still, the result is the same, a warm room with Madge in it, beaming at Gale and his family.

Haymitch is irritable, which is no shock, Gale imagines he isn't too thrilled at having to entertain, if eyeing everyone in the room with annoyance can be called entertaining, after the day's events. He sulks in front of the fireplace, though Madge had apparently convinced him to cook a goose they'd bought from the butcher. Gale smiles a little to himself when he realizes it's one of the geese he'd killed and sold right before the electricity had been turned on for the Victory Tour. He might not have been able to provide the meal outright, but he had provided it.

Matilda flitters around, humming happily to herself at the beginning, before Posy, Vick, and Rory start making too much noise. When she starts pressing the tips of her fingers to her temples and scrunching her eyes, though, Gale's mom intervenes, sending the kids out and offering to help her set the table.

"Only if you want to, dear," Matilda tells her, her face still wary and tense despite the kids being out in the now calm cold, building a snowman.

"I'm used to doing more. I don't know what to do with myself otherwise," his mother confesses, taking a bowl of what looks to be corn from her loose grip.

They get through dinner with Haymitch keeping his language more or less clean, and his snide remarks nothing more than irritated grumbles under his breath. Though when he tries to light a cigar at the table, offering one to Gale's dad, who politely declines, he nearly jumps out of his skin at Madge's reprimand.

"Outside," she tells him sharply, glaring at the match in his hand, still several inches from the cigar hanging from Haymitch's lips. "You aren't supposed to smoke in here and you know that."

"Aw, Pearl, it's just one," he tries to charm her, cigar dangling dangerously. "It's a celebration, right?"

Madge's dark glare makes it clear that celebration or not, she doesn't care. He isn't getting to smoke in the house.

"You know the rules," Madge says, crossing her arms.

"But-"

"No," she cuts him off.

While they're having their stand-off, Posy takes a spoonful of mashed potato, which she's been fascinated with since their dad had plopped it on her plate, and accidentally flings it at Vick.

Startled, Vick yelps, quickly shaking his hand and trying to fling the potato mush from where it landed on his hand and sending it onto Rory.

"Stop!" Rory yells, trying to save his good shirt and knocking his water over in the process. "Damn it!"

"Rory!" Both of Gale's parents shout, glaring darkly at him.

Gale covers his face with his hands. They can't get through one meal can they?

While his siblings are arguing, pointing fingers and glares and his parents are trying to calm them while trying to sop of wet potatoes and keep the water from dripping onto the rug, Madge's voice has rose, trying to get to Haymitch over the commotion as he continues to try to charm her into relenting.

Then someone makes a small noise, like a crack, and all the shouting stops.

Madge's mother's expression, which had slowly slipped back into her normally empty stare and vacant smile with the kids' improved behavior, seems to crumble at all the noise and Madge's increasingly agitated tone. As she watches both her daughter and Haymitch, her hazy blue eyes filling with tears and her fingers to her temples. "Are you angry, love?"

She sounds so much like Posy or Vick when they're certain they've done something wrong, that Gale feels his heart constrict in his throat. Glancing at Madge, Gale knows she feels the same.

Her color has faded, all the brightness of excitement has evaporated and her face and she's chewing her lip, clearly doing some quick thinking to defuse whatever meltdown her mother is about to have.

Despite never having seen one of Matilda Undersee's fits, Gale has heard about them, or at least everyone's impression of them.

"Weeping, sobbing mess," Greasy Sae had complained once, when Gale's father had asked about a mirror Matilda had mentioned needing, thinking it would be a good sale if he could trade low enough for it.

"She's a complete basket case," Chesney Shumard had said, when Madge's mother had turned up after school one day, holding a loaf of bread in one hand and little tin in the other, waiting with a patient smile for her daughter to appear. "I'd die of embarrassment if my mother were a lunatic."

"Can't they keep her locked up?" Another girl had asked, turning her back on the still quietly waiting Matilda. Her lips had turned up in a smug smile, eyes twinkling malevolently. "My mom told me they used to call her 'Mad Mattie'."

Chesney had laughed, high and cruel. "Maybe that's why she named Madge 'Madge', to make it easier on us when she loses her mind too."

Gale had scowled at them, unable to stand by anymore. "They aren't hurting either of you. Just leave them alone."

He'd stomped off after that, ignoring their hurt and confused looks. If they made fun of Madge or her mother after that, Gale doesn't know. On the rare occasion he gave either one of them the time of day, they didn't breathe a word about either woman.

"Mom," Madge lowers her tone, gentle, like she's talking to Posy. "I'm not mad. I'm only yelling so he can hear me and I just don't like him smoking in the house. You don't either, remember?"

Sniffling and managing to keep the tears at bay, Matilda nods, her gaze settling on the expanding pool of water, leeching out on the tablecloth.

Before anything else can happen, Haymitch gets up and pulls Matilda with him, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and holding her tight to him.

"My nerves just got ahead of my mind," he tells her, just low enough that Gale almost misses it. "Let's get you a nap, sweetheart. Too much excitement for you today."

He steers her out, despite her weak protests that she wants to have dessert with everyone. Madge pops up seconds after they vanish out the door toward the hall and the stairs, giving Gale an apologetic grimace as she darts out to check on her mother.

The rest of the table of sits in stunned silence for several seconds, footsteps echoing into nothingness outside the dining room, not really sure what to do with themselves now that their hosts have run out on them.

Finally, Posy breaks the stillness by dropping her potato-less spoon.

"Is Madge's mom okay?" Vick asks, sitting up a little straighter and craning his neck and trying to look through the doorway, completely forgetting the potato smear on his shirt.

"What's wrong with her?" Posy asks, getting to her feet and crawling over the side of her chair and into their dad's lap. "Did Madge make her sad?"

Giving Gale a worried glance, his dad shifts Posy and forces a smile for her. "I think she's just had a long day."

Posy nods. "She needs a nap then."

Finally, Rory shoots Gale an agitated frown. "What are you still sitting here for? Shouldn't you be, you know, checking on your girlfriend?"

"Ror-oh," their mother pauses, looking unsettled at not having to warn her middle son off. "Actually, Rory has a point, Gale. You should probably go check on Madge."

Too stunned by Rory's sudden show of maturity, which is bound to be gone by the time Gale gets back, Gale wipes his mouth on the dainty napkin Madge had given him and gets up, heading out the doorway Madge had disappeared through minutes before.

The hall is dark, the sun that had lit it has set, leaving only the chandelier light stretching out from the dining area to guide his way.

Stairs creaking with each step, Gale slowly makes his way to the top of the stairs, to the even darker stretch of hall that leads to the bedrooms.

The end door is Madge's. Gale is intimately familiar with that entry, having quietly snuck out it only just hours earlier.

The one closest, closed tightly, is Haymitch's. Madge had pointed it out as they'd scampered past on the way down that morning.

That left one door.

Madge's mother's room.

It's cracked open, wide enough that Posy or even Vick could've easily squeezed through. Taking a few steps, not making a noise on the rug, Gale peaks in.

Madge is sitting in front of her mother on the bed, holding her hand and rubbing soothing circles on her knuckles, murmuring softly to her.

The only light in the room is coming from the bathroom, and a shadow crosses it after a few seconds.

Gale's eyes cut over and find Haymitch, carefully folding what looks to be a wet rag as he crosses the room to the bed. Gently he takes the rag and puts it over Matilda's eyes, smoothing out wisps of her hair as he does. "Get some rest, sweetheart."

"You aren't fighting anymore?" He hears Matilda's soft voice ask.

"We weren't fighting, 'Tilda," Haymitch tells her. "Just discussing."

"Loudly," Matilda points out.

Chuckling, Haymitch sets down beside her and begins combing her hair with his fingers, humming calmly.

After a minute, Madge gets up and gives her mother a kiss before whispering something to Haymitch and walking toward the door.

Jerking back, Gale steps away from the door, pretending to have just come up the steps.

Madge comes out, her expression worn and her eyes a little puffy, as if she'd been fighting off tears of her own, and gives Gale a weary smile.

"I'm sorry, Gale," she whispers, burying her face in her hands. "She was already wound up about the Victory Tour, and they show those awful recaps on tv all day, and then having the kids here-I mean, this isn't their fault! She's just-yelling gets her like this, but-"

Gale cuts her off with a kiss, silencing her explanations.

"It's okay," he murmurs against her lips. "It's fine."

A little huff grazes his jaw and Madge sniffles.

"It's not okay." Shimmering eyes look up at him, tears just waiting to fall hovering at the cusp of her lids. "She's a mess. I know she is. I'm sorry it had to ruin the night."

"It didn't," he assures her. "It was a good night. Good food and good company..."

Pulling her into a hug, he nuzzles into her hair and inhales.

"It was good. I promise."

Sniffling again, she nods against his chest and let's her hands snake around his waist before resting her ear against his chest.

"Liar," she whispers. "But thanks."

Chuckling, Gale kisses her head. "You're welcome."

#######

Madge takes Gale's hand and pulls him down the hall, back to the stairs and down.

She hates that her mother had a fit on them. Gale and his siblings and parents shouldn't have to deal with Madge's troubles, but it's always a possibility. And really, she should've expected something to go wrong with her mother or Mr. Abernathy, nothing ever runs smoothly with them.

"We can still eat the ice cream we made," Madge tells him as they stop at the bottom of the stairs and Gale pulls her to his chest. "We have some strawberry preserves and chocolate to put on it."

"The kids'll like that," Gale chuckles as they start to head back to the dining room.

They stop, though, when a soft knock comes from the kitchen and causes Madge's heart to stop.

"Expecting someone?" Gale asks, even though the frown on his face plainly lets Madge know he already knows the answer before she even shakes her head.

Bewildered, Madge lets Gale's hand go and heads for the kitchen.

When she passes the opening to the dining room, Vick calls out to her.

"Is your mom okay?" He asks as he starts to get up.

Without a word, Madge holds her hand out, stopping him mid motion and gives him a wary look. "Don't come out here."

Gale's mom and dad both immediately sense her unease, his mother grabbing hold of Vick and his dad securing Posy on his lap. Rory, for once, has the good sense to stay put.

Quietly, Madge steps into the kitchen and squints at the door. Whoever it is, they have their back to the glass, and the newly blowing snow keeps them obscured.

With Gale on her heels, Madge crosses the kitchen and cautiously open the door.

"Can I help-"

"Jude?" Gale says over her shoulder. "Katniss?" He pulls the door open the rest of the way, letting a cold blast and wet snow blow in. "What are you two doing there?"

Katniss, with her nose barely visible over her scarf and with her stocking cap pulled low, glares in at them. "Let us come in and we'll explain."

Mr. Everdeen smiles tightly and tries to be a little pleasanter. "What she means is, it's a little cold out here, can we come in and explain?"

Finally remembering her manners, Madge waves them in. "Yes, right, sure."

Bringing cold and snow in, letting slush and mud drip and a few stray dead leaves drop onto the kitchen floor, Katniss and Mr. Everdeen come in, looking around curiously.

Finally, once they've take off their coats and shaken out their hats, Madge decides it isn't worth it to ask them to take off their shoes, Mr. Everdeen pulls out an envelope.

It's plain, though a little wet and battered, and when he opens it and pulls out a lone note, he drops a picture into a puddle at his feet that Katniss quickly retrieves and hands back to him.

"We got this last night," Mr. Everdeen explains, holding the paper and photo out to Madge.

Not really sure what she's about to read, Madge takes them.

Despite the smudging, probably from several readings, the current date and time, along with Madge's address, are written in tidy scroll. There's nothing else. Not a salutation, not a name, and certainly not an explanation. Her eyes fall to the picture and her breath catches. Katniss and Mr. Everdeen clearly sneaking out of the District.

"What is this about?" She finally ask, feeling as though there's something she's missing and terrified at what that might be.

Katniss' eyebrows rise. "We were hoping you could tell us."

"We thought Haymitch might have something to do with it," Mr. Everdeen adds a little reluctantly.

Feeling slightly offended on Mr. Abernathy's behalf, Madge hands the letter and picture back. "That isn't his handwriting-" which is atrocious "-and he wouldn't have a picture of anyone going under the fence."

Why would he?

"Then why does it have this address?" Katniss asks, accusation in her tone.

"I don't know," Madge snaps. "But Mr. Abernathy didn't have anything to-"

Another knock interrupts them and they turn to find, of all people, Thom Lacewood and a giant of a man, staring through the backdoor window, both frowning.

Gale sighs and opens the door. "What the hell are you doing here, Thom?"

Without hesitation, Thom steps in, shaking snow onto the floor and producing a letter. "I thought Madge had come to her senses and realized I was the catch, but since you're here, I think I might be wrong."

Snatching the letter from Thom, Gale quickly reads it before handing it to Madge.

It's the same as Katniss and her father's, simple with date, time, and address in the same careful, curveless handwriting.

Frowning, Gale examines the picture of Katniss and her father, that's curling at the edges from its fall into the puddle, before looking back at Madge. "What's going on?"

She isn't sure, but Madge has a sneaking suspicion the mysterious letters have something to do with Wiress' dire promise to contact them when the Victory Tour rolled through.

Someone scuffles in from the hall, and Mr. Hawthorne comes in, glancing around and looking as baffled as everyone else.

"I didn't realize this party invitation was extended to everyone," he says, trying and failing to sound light-hearted, even smiling at Mr. Everdeen. The smile slips off when Mr. Everdeen only greets it with a worried frown.

Before she can tell Gale and his dad that this is likely part of the Wiress' scheme, Mr. Abernathy comes in, looking thoroughly disgruntled.

"What's-" He stops, his eyes falling on the letters in Madge's hands and the wrinkling, curling picture in Gale's. "Oh, damn."

Without another word, he goes to the cabinet and pulls down a fresh bottle of white liquor, opens it, and takes a long drink. Immediately, he offers it to the others. "You're going to want this."

"What's this about?" Gale asks, holding the picture out. "Why did you send these letters out? And how did you get this picture?"

Madge shoots him a dark look. Mr. Abernathy had nothing to do with this and the fact that everyone assumes the worst in him grates her nerves.

Rolling his eyes, Mr. Abernathy relaxes against the table, crossing his arms and taking another drink.

"Not my letters, not my picture, not my party." He rubs a hand over his face before gesturing for Madge to bring him the letters.

She scurries and hands them over, giving him a wary frown as she places them in his worn hands. For a minute he studies them, squinting at the perfect lettering before handing them back and grunting, "Wiress."

Madge's heart stops. She repeats him flatly, "Wiress."

Gale nods, but the others look around in confusion.

"What's a 'wiress'?" Thom asks, looking as though he's missed something very important.

"Not a 'what', a 'who'," Mr. Abernathy tells them. "And 'who' is probably coming soon."

Someone clears their throat from the entryway Mr. Abernathy had entered through minutes before.

Standing, primly, head up and dark eyes trained on the group, is Wiress. She's in another dark colored skirt and a stiff looking white shirt covered in an intricately designed, though equally dark and scratchy looking sweater.

She gives them a tight smile, not a single tooth showing, before she steps into the room.

Speak of the devil, Madge thinks dimly.

"'Who' is me." She surveys the group narrowly.

Mr. Abernathy raises his bottle to her.

"Hello, darlin'."

#######

Wiress is just as formal as she was the first time Asher met her.

Stiff clothes, pressed and clean, hair pulled back severely in a bun, and dark, unsettling eyes that glitter out, searching for weaknesses, ammo to use against them at a later date.

"I suggest we go to the study. I have my things in there," she tells them without explanation.

Haymitch makes a face and grumbles. "You broke into my house? Again? Damn it, woman. You have no concept of personal space."

Chuckling darkly, she shrugs dismissively before turning. "Follow me."

There's no explanation in her words, only orders, and Asher worries that's all they'll ever get from her.

"Why should we follow you, lady?" Arran Lacewood asks, his gruff voice bouncing off the walls.

As Wiress turns back to them, eyes burning with an empty light and her thin mouth nothing more than a line, she raises her eyebrows. "Because I said to."

And that, clearly, ought to be enough for them.

Without another word, she turns again and takes off down the hall.

Haymitch pushes himself from the table and groans. His tired eyes cross over the group and he gives Gale a sardonic grin. "Come on, boy. This is your party."

He gestures for Madge to come, and after a second of hesitation, glancing at Gale and biting her lip, she goes, letting him wrap an arm around her and pull her along.

"What's going on?" Jude asks, once Madge and Haymitch are out of the room. "And why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like it?"

Looking at Gale, who has glanced back at the picture gripped tightly in his hands, Asher sighs.

"It's complicated," he tells them. "And I think Wiress can explain it better."

Mostly because Asher doesn't want to be the one to explain it, or tell his friends that he and Gale essentially volunteered them for a suicide mission.

Turning and taking a deep breath, Asher takes off through the entry.

Down the hall, as soon as he steps into the living room to turn to the study, Asher stops when he spots Hazelle sitting stiffly on the couch with an arm around Vick. He'd left them there when he went to check on Gale and Madge.

"Ash," she says when she hears him come through, standing, her eyes wide and terrified. "That woman-"

Asher nods, silently telling her to stay quiet as he crosses over to her and pulls her into a hug.

"Just stay in here and keep the kids quiet," he whispers.

Pulling back, he sees Posy, asleep in one of the big, overstuffed chairs, and Rory staring worriedly at him from his seat by the fire. He doesn't like them so close to Wiress. Their proximity to someone that seems to have so little regard for anyone but her own family's lives leaves his stomach in knots.

Reaching over the back of the sofa, Asher ruffles Vick's hair and gives both boys a worried grimace. "Be good for your mom."

He doesn't wait for a response, just turns to the sound of softly plodding boots.

The group shuffles, following Gale to the study, and Asher joins in, a sense of doom settling over him.

Once they step in, the air instantly feels heavier, full of something undefined but troubling and dangerous.

As soon as Katniss, at the end of the group, steps in, Wiress tells Gale to shut the doors.

"We don't want your little brothers or sister or, of course, dear Matilda, wandering in accidentally, do we?" She asks, no real concern in her voice.

Once the doors are closed, making Asher feel a bit like a man trapped in a coffin, Arran crosses his arms and glares at Wiress, still apparently unimpressed with her.

"What's this all about?" He shoots Gale a look. "'Cause it don't look like a party to me."

Her expression still tight, Wiress waves her hand to a chair. "Sit, Mr. Lacewood, and I'll tell you exactly what kind of party this is."

#######

It doesn't take Wiress long, less than ten minutes, to explain the whole situation to the newcomers.

As she talks, Gale studies their faces. Eyes widening and narrowing, mouths tensing, as she explains the danger the families of the Victors are soon going to be in and the reason she's drawn them all in.

The Quarter Quell, the looming announcement about the inclusion of the Victors' families, and finally, the decision to take down Snow.

When she finishes, the room stays quiet for several minutes as her words and the job she's placed before them settle in their minds.

Gale wishes he could reach into their minds and see what they're thinking. The suspense of not knowing if they'll agree, and the uncertain consequences if they don't, kills him.

Katniss finally breaks the silence, narrowing her eyes and shooting Madge and Haymitch a dark look.

"So you want us to help you take down President Snow and evacuate the District?" Her normally unreadable expression hardening. "What if we say no? What if we don't want our families put in that kind of danger?"

Wiress crosses her arms on the desk and gives her an unbothered look. "You'll be free to go about your life, of course."

Katniss, and everyone else, seem to relax at that, but then Wiress' smile twitches up. That isn't the end of it.

"But," she begins again, sitting back in the chair and picking unconcernedly at her nails, "I can't guarantee you that someone won't let your little photographs, proof of treason, might I remind you, slip into the wrong hands." She looks up, smiling vaguely. "That does happen sometimes."

Her threat seems to hit Katniss and her eyes widen as she sets back on the bench, looking to her dad, clearly terrified by what she's being told.

"You haven't got any pictures of us," Thom points out, an unwise challenge to someone obviously unstable.

Her smile widens. "There's more than one way to fry a keyboard, Mr. Lacewood."

The certainty and the ominous tone of her words silence Thom, and he drops back down beside his dad on the bench by the door, his expression increasingly anxious.

Cold fear settles over the room, seeping in and infecting the occupants as they consider Wiress' words and her warning.

Gale feels a wave of guilt wash over him and he glances back at the picture of Katniss and Jude, still clutched in his hand.

It's his fault his friends are here, essentially being blackmailed into helping with a fight they may, probably don't, want any part of. He's condemned them, put them in Wiress' crosshairs, and when they realize that, fully and truly, he's sure he won't be able to call them friends anymore. He has several months of stony silence in his future, and he can't help but think that's the very least he deserves.

He's betrayed their trust by picking Madge and her life, her well-being, over the relationships he's had since childhood. He's put his friends and his dad, his own family, in danger, possibly condemned them to death.

It's a shitty thing to have done, but when Gale feels Madge's cool fingers stealthily lace with his, he finds his regret melt.

This isn't going to fail. He's going to save her and his friends' lives will change for the better. That has to be enough to rub the dark mark of betrayal from him.

Finally, Jude grimaces wearily. "So, what you're saying is, we don't have a choice."

Wiress chuckles softly. "Mr. Everdeen, of course you have a choice, but you're going to have to live with the consequences of that choice. So, pick wisely."

#######

As Wiress sits back in the chair, her fingertips pressed together and her steel eyes watching and waiting for the group's decision, Asher cuts his eyes to Gale.

Despite the fact that no one seems eager to take up the cause, his jaw is set and his expression is determined. Even if everyone had turned the offer, which is more of a demand without option, Asher thinks Gale would still go. His fingers are twined with Madge's. No matter what happens, Gale is in, completely.

And so Asher is too.

Before he can say so, officially sign his own death warrant, the door opens and in steps someone so foreign to District Twelve that he stops, mouth still slightly open.

It's the girl from only days earlier, but with distinct alterations.

Her dark, stringy hair is gone, replaced by curls that remind Asher of one of the dolls from the general store's front display, the ones Posy stares at sadly when they pass by and that he has no hope of ever affording, large and stiff, perfect and fake. It's also a deep mossy color, matched to her dress and makeup, washing her skin out in a strange glow.

Green lips stretch up into a wicked grin as she surveys the room, her eyes twinkling.

"I hope all the tedious details are finished," she says, tilting her head and looking to Wiress.

Wiress waves a hand, almost bored, and smiles.

Without waiting for an actual answer, Phoebe comes in, tossing her curls over her shoulder and gesturing for someone to follow her. "Well, come on."

Behind her, looking just as confused as the occupants of the room, is Peeta Mellark.

What the baker's son is doing with the Victor, Asher isn't sure, and from his wide-eyed confusion, Peeta doesn't really know either.

"Everyone and Dorothy, Peeta," Phoebe introduces him. "Peeta, everyone and Dorothy."

Looking a bit wary and very confused, Peeta raises his hand. "Uh, hi."

"Mr. Mellark, please take a seat," Wiress tells him before turning her gaze back to Phoebe. "I take it you filled him in during your little 'break'?"

Phoebe's nose wrinkles up as she slumps against the wall and crosses her arms.

"I don't like the cold, you know that, plus the wind nearly blew me halfway to the ocean," she tells Wiress. "And yes, during our battle against the elements, I did fill him in."

"I'm in," Peeta says before Wiress even turns back to him.

All eyes in the room turn to him and he swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing and his eyebrows pulling together.

"You know what you're agreeing to? There's no backing out," Wiress tells him, a soft sort of kindness inexplicably infecting her voice.

Peeta nods, his eyes flickering around the room before settling on Wiress. "I know what I'm getting into. I've known since Madge asked me to help with the breaker. Besides," he gives her a tense little smile, "it's either join or get dragged in, right?"

He's a little braver than Asher had ever given him credit for, that's suddenly apparent.

"Got that right," Thom mutters, glancing at his dad. "I'm in. Not that I've got a choice."

Arran crosses his huge arms over his barrel chest and nods. "Where my kid goes, I go."

Jude looks across the room, a hint of accusation in his eyes when they meet Asher's, before he sighs. "Guess I'm in, not that it matters what I say."

"I guess you worked out what my picture meant, then?" Phoebe says offhandedly. "I was a bit worried. You seemed a little dense."

Katniss' glare settles on the girl, but she stays mercifully silent.

"That simplifies things," Wiress says standing and straightening her skirt and picking of a spot of lint from her itchy looking sweater. "So much easier when we don't have to employ our more creative persuasive techniques."

She smiles, completely without warmth, as though she's just given them great news, which, Asher supposes, she has.

"We'll go over the basics, and Phoebe can give Madge, Mr. Mellark, and their gloomy little friend their basic instructions, which I'm assured even a trained monkey could carry out, and then we'll be on our way."

The entire room seems to freeze, uncertain what she's just said.

"What do you mean, 'be on our way'?" Asher finally asks, though he's afraid he already knows what she's going to say.

Wiress' lips stretch up and her eyes narrow, a little frigidly to Asher.

"To the Capitol, of course."


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.

"What?" Asher asks, almost at the same time as Gale.

She can't be serious.

"The Quarter Quell isn't for months," Madge begins, eyes darting between the two Victors bringing the bad news, begging them to tell her this is some kind of joke.

Haymitch stares at Wiress for several seconds, studying her and waiting, before letting out a long breath and setting back. He gives Madge a small, regretful smile, and gently pats her knee. "Sorry, sweetheart."

Madge's eyes widen and she takes a shaky breath.

"We leave tonight," Wiress tells them in her detached way, standing and gathering her papers. "Phoebe, please-"

"Wait," Arran cuts her off, standing, tall and imposing. "You can't just come in here, tell us we're going to go to the Capitol, then say we're leaving tonight."

"It would seem I just did, Mr. Lacewood," she tells him, not even raising her eyes from her work.

"We have families we need to say goodbye to," Jude points out. "And you want us to pack up and leave tonight."

She nods. "Yes, that's an accurate summation." Her eyes narrow and she looks around the room, eyebrows rising. "We can't just tell you all about this plan and then leave. That would be irresponsible."

"Besides," Phoebe chirps in, picking at a string hanging from her bag, "getting one person out here and back is one thing. Getting one person out here and getting five back is another." She sighs. "We're good, but not that good."

Cold realization suddenly hits Asher, almost taking the air from his lungs.

Of course they're taking them tonight. It's logical, it's practical, and from what he's seen of Wiress, that's her to the letter.

Aside from the logistics of transport, letting the men know about the plan and then letting them stew in resentment and anger for months was too dangerous. There were too many things that could go wrong, too many chances for all the careful planning to be undone by one drunken night or one opportunity to save their own lives.

The air seems to cool and leak from the room, suffocating the occupants.

Asher stands and goes to the door, only to be stopped by Wiress' cool voice.

"Mr. Hawthorne, where are you going?"

Turning to her and feeling the tears filling his eyes, but refusing to let them fall, Asher takes a deep breath. "I'm saying goodbye to my wife and kids."

He won't see them again, and the thought breaks his heart.

Without waiting for her approval, he leaves, out the door and down the short hall.

Hazelle must hear him coming, because she's already on her feet when he comes in, her face set in worry.

"Ash-"

He cuts her off crushing her to his chest and letting the tears slip down his cheeks, soaking her shoulder.

"We're leaving," he whispers, his chest aching as he holds her closer. "Tonight."

Her breath catches and she freezes.

Suddenly, her arms tighten and her breathing speeds up. Asher feels his shirt grow damp where her cheek is pressing into his shoulder.

"But..."

Whatever argument she has dies with a ragged breath as she begins silently sobbing.

He wants to tell her it's going to be okay, but he can't. They've never been ones for comforting lies, like that he'd survive everyday in the mines or that going into the woods was safe, and he doesn't plan on starting now.

Small arms suddenly wrap around them, and when Asher looks down, Posy is peering up at him, eyes puffy from sleep.

"Daddy, is somethin' wrong?" She asks through a yawn.

Leaning down, Asher picks her up into a hug, kissing her cheek and smoothing her hair. "No, I just have to go on a trip for a little while."

She pulls back, giving him a sleepy smile. "Will you bring me something when you come back?"

Choking back a sob, Asher nods and gives her another kiss. "Yeah, baby."

He spots Rory and Vick, both standing by the couch and watching the tears drip from their parents' faces. They don't know what's happening, but they know it isn't good.

Handing Posy off to Hazelle, who quickly wraps her in a hug and buries her face in her hair, Asher walks over to the boys.

Putting his hand on Vick's head, he gives them both a watery smile.

"You boys be good for your mom, alright?"

They both nod silently.

Then Vick breaks, throwing his arms around Asher's middle and letting out a sob.

"I love you, dad," he blubbers, sniffling and rubbing his nose on Asher's shirt.

"I love you too, bud," Asher whispers back, kissing his hair.

Pulling back, he looks at Rory. He's got his jaw locked and his eyes shining.

For all his bluster, Rory is still just a little boy, and he looks the part now more than ever.

Reaching out, Asher pats his cheek. "You're the man of the house now."

Rory nods, sniffling and holding out for a moment more before he flings his arms around Asher. "I'm sorry for always being such a pain."

Laughing wetly, Asher pats Rory's back reassuringly.

"I love you, pain or not."

He feels Rory nod against him. "I love you too, dad."

Behind them, Hazelle makes a choking noise, and when Asher turns he finds her hugging Gale fiercely, her tears drenching his shirt as she murmurs softly to him.

Standing awkwardly at the entryway, Madge watches the scene, tears rolling down her cheeks and dripping off her chin, splattering on her dress.

Her eyes catch Asher's and she mouths the words 'I'm sorry'.

Before he thinks about it too much, Asher slowly lets go of Rory and walks to her.

"I'll watch out for them," she tells him as he reaches her, voice breaking. "I promise."

It's should be some sort of strange balance, Asher supposed, that he cost Madge her dad, and now he's going to die trying to save her. It isn't though. Madge might, probably will, lose Gale, and there's no balance in two people who love each other so deeply so quickly losing one another.

That's why we have to succeed, he thinks.

He can't fail his family and he can't fail Madge, not again. He won't.

"I know you will," he tells her, forcing a smile

Reaching out, he pats her wet cheek.

She's a good girl, and Asher plans on living and coming back to see her and Gale get married someday and have kids of their own. He'll have earned it, he thinks.

A genuine smile ticks up on his lips.

"I know you will."

#######

Birdy calls Madge back to the office, and she quietly backs out of the living room. The Hawthornes need their moment and she needs something to focus on.

Silently, she hands Madge a folder.

"Let's hope you follow these instructions a little better than my last," she tells her, a little sharply.

Madge brushes a few more tears away and frowns, wracking her brain for something she'd missed. "What other instructions did you give me?"

Pointing a green tipped finger at Peeta, Birdy arches an eyebrow.

"I told you to get him here, and what do you do? Invite Dorothy's mini-hims instead."

Feeling caught off guard, Madge squints at the table. She vaguely remembers being told to get Peeta up there after the Festival, but it had slipped her mind.

"Sorry," she mumbles.

Birdy mutters something that sounds like 'you oughta be', before gesturing for Peeta and Katniss to come in closer.

She moves back toward the desk and motions for Madge to open the folder.

Inside is a detailed map of the inside of what looks to be a building. Madge quickly realizes it's the little structure that houses the circuits and breakers for all the electricity in District Twelve.

"I've highlighted all places you'll need to place the explosives to guarantee that all the power is taken out," she tells them.

"We can't just, I don't know, throw it in?" Peeta says, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.

Birdy shakes her head, green curls swaying gently. "No can do, sugarplum. The Capitol has fail safes for things like that. Apparently some fool in Seven tried it a couple of decades back. They instituted shunts, or something like that, I don't know, I'm not good with the technical stuff, to redirect power in the case of another attempt." She scratches her nose. "With communication between the Districts being what it is, they figured anyone who tried it again would do the same stupid thing."

Madge runs her fingers over her the map, trying to commit to memory every detail, but she's unfocused. She wants to spend these last few minutes with Gale, as selfish as that is, and she's sure Katniss wants to go in the hall with her dad.

"Where's these explosives?" Katniss asks, still not looking convinced.

Pushing the map off the stack, Birdy jabs a green fingernail at another highlighted spot. "There."

Katniss' head tilts as she processes what she's seeing. "That's the Mayor's backyard."

Rolling her eyes, Birdy huffs. "Can't get anything past you." Quickly, she plasters a false smile on her face, waving her hands at the map like a girl on a Capitol gameshows. "As you can see, I placed the means to your District's freedom well within your reach since the electricity will be on for the next few days, until the Victory Tour finishes up."

Peeta nods. "Seems simple enough."

It did. A little too simple.

Flipping the map over, Birdy reveals the first of the stack of papers. It's a sheet filled with detailed instructions for setting off the explosives, troubleshooting, and last resorts.

"Let's hope those don't become necessary," she tells them, a grim expression flashing over her features before she quickly replaced it with another tight smile.

Madge and Peeta mumble agreements, Katniss, however, just crossed her arms and glares.

"Can I go be with my dad now?" She practically growls through gritted teeth.

"Whatever makes you happy, Sunshine," Birdy chirps.

In a flurry of irritation, Katniss stomps out, flinging the door open and leaving the three to gather up the papers she sends to the ground in her wake.

"What a drama queen," Birdy mutters.

"Well," Peeta begins cautiously, "you are taking her dad on a deadly mission and telling her it's on her to help save an entire district. It isn't really fair to expect her to be happy about it."

Arching an eyebrow, Birdy's mouth turns down.

"Life isn't fair. Throwing a tantrum doesn't change that."

With that and a sigh, she waves them out, stacking the file on the desk for Madge to look at later.

Katniss is already wrapped in her dad's arms, letting him whisper words of comfort into her hair as they both struggle not to cry, when Madge gets back in the living room.

Thom and his dad are huddled in a corner, talking in low, somber tones as they await their fate, and the Hawthornes are all settled on the couch.

They're all doomed, and it's her fault. Her existence, the fact that Gale is willing to fight the entire Capitol to save her, is the only reason they're in Wiress and Birdy's sight.

She's poison. She should've stayed in the Home and died, it would've saved the world and her friends a lot of heartache.

As she's about to sink back into the small hall, hidden away to cry herself dry, Gale spots her and gets up, striding across the room and pulling her to his chest and folding in around her.

"It's going to be okay," he tells her softly, his chapped lips brushing against her ear.

She nods, smearing tears on his already damp shirt. It's probably a lie, even if Gale doesn't think it is, but she lets him tell it to her anyways. It's selfish, but she wants the comfort of his lies. They may be the only way to sooth her aching conscience.

"Gale," Madge hears a harsh voice say.

Pulling out of Gale's arms, she turns and finds Katniss, a look of absolute disgust on her face.

Without warning, she shoves him, knocking him into the wall.

"You sold us out!" She shouts, tears she'd managed to keep in finally breaking free. "You-I thought you were our friend!"

She starts to push him again, or maybe hit him, but her feet fly out from under her and she's suddenly on her back, gasping in shock.

Birdy kneels down, grabbing Katniss by her braid and setting her in a cold glare.

"Do you actually think Dorothy and his pappy want to be part of this game?"

When Katniss only glares in response, Birdy reaches into her filthy gray bag, settled awkwardly on her hip, and produces another picture.

At first Madge isn't sure what it's of, she only catches a glimpse before it's shoved in Katniss' face. It becomes clear, though, once Birdy starts talking.

"We've got them by the short and curlies too, Sunshine. They had their own little plan to save Magdalene and her momma before we came in. Our plans trump other people's though."

She stands and tosses the picture at Katniss, letting it flutter gently to the ground, spinning as it does.

When it lands by Katniss' feet, Madge finally sees what she'd suspected.

Gale and his father, carrying rabbits and squirrels under the fence, smiling and cheerfully defying the government.

"He didn't sell you out. You're just unlucky by proximity and the ease by which we can control you."

It's not a complete lie, but it isn't the whole truth, and Madge wonders what kind of game she's playing now.

"Even if he wasn't ass over neck infatuated with Magdalene, we'd've still probably snatched y'all up because you're easy marks. Your bad luck."

It may very well be another fabrication, or it might be the truth, Madge can't tell. There's so little consistency in her actions and her words that it may very well be a little of both.

Looking to Gale, Madge studies his expression, a strange mix of confusion and dawning comprehension.

She almost asks him what he's thinking, but is cut short by Wiress' sudden appearance, back from the kitchen where she'd vanished to in order to make some sort of transmission.

"Making friends again, Phoebe?"

Birdy shrugs. "It's what I do best."

Turning to Mr. Abernathy, Wiress gives him a once over. "Where is your coat, Haymitch."

Thick eyebrows arch up.

"Sorry, sweetheart, I'm not really one for group dates."

Wiress' eyes flick upward, and for the first time, a hint of genuine amusement crosses her features.

"You aren't really my type anyway," she tells him through a smirk. "But this isn't an optional trip."

"Oh?"

She sighs. "If you'd check your mail every once and a while, you'd have gotten your summons."

Madge's heart stops. A summons can't be good.

Rushing to the front door, Madge pulls it open and reaches out into the icy air, into the little mailbox. Normally it's empty, Mr. Abernathy's bills are taken care of, and he's not one for correspondence. Instead of nothingness, cold metal and maybe a leaf or two, she finds a thin envelope.

Pulling it out, she yanks her arm back in the house and shuts the door, eyes focused on the letter.

It's official looking, gold lettering that's faded during the time waiting to be found and the Seal of the Capitol in the upper corner.

Hands shaking from cold and terror, she opens it.

Just as Wiress had said, it's a summons, telling 'Haymitch Abernathy' that his presence is required in the Capitol at the culmination of the Victory Tour.

"Seeing as you've always been so compliant with requests and timely with arrivals in the past, I've been instructed to collect you while we're here." She gives him a small smile, the first hint of any kind of sympathy she's shown. "I'm sorry, Haymitch. You have to come. It's a nonnegotiable."

Mr. Abernathy's normally olive skin has taken on a sickly yellow tone and his entire being seems to droop as he studies Wiress, waiting helplessly for her to tell him it's a joke.

She doesn't though, just offers a small, regretful smile.

"Why?" He asks, his voice cracking.

He hates going to the Capitol, and he normally only has to go during the Games. At least then he can prepare. This is unexpected, and the suddenness of it clearly isn't sitting well with him.

Birdy, who'd sank into the woodwork, reaches out, as if to give him a comforting pat on the shoulder, but then let's her hand fall back to her side.

"We think they're making the announcement during the wrap up," she answers finally. A hollow little laugh escapes her chest. "That's why they want everyone there. You know, so they can get all our reactions on film and to keep us from doing anything questionable."

A few minutes seem to crawl by as her explanation sinks in, before Mr. Abernathy finally nods absently.

Wiress clears her throat, getting his attention.

"Go say goodbye to Matilda, Haymitch."

#######

Jude stands at the fireplace, letting its heat sink into his bones as he holds Katniss close to his side.

He's already said what he needs to say, take care of your mom and Prim, tell them I love them, remember I love you, if things look like they're going bad, get out. There isn't time to worry about everyone else.

It's selfish, he knows that, but he isn't Mayor Undersee. Jude isn't willing to sacrifice himself and let his family's fate dangle in the breeze. He wants to know they aren't going to suffer for his mistakes like Madge and her mother had.

Katniss is strong though, she's old enough and tough enough to keep herself, Prim, and Valencia alive if worse comes to worse.

Kissing her hair, he chuckles.

"We're you gonna hit him?"

She nods. "Still might."

Her eyes cut to Wiress and the girl, talking quietly by the door, and Jude gets the impression she'd like a chance to take a swing at them as well.

Arms tightening around her, Jude kisses her hair again. "Be safe."

#######

Gale takes Madge's hand as she stands at the foot of the stairs, tears pooling in her eyes and blinking out, trickling down her cheeks as she waits for Haymitch to reappear.

When she finally lets her gaze drop and turns to Gale, her eyes are puffy and red rimmed, nose raw from sniffling and rubbing it.

Much as he thinks Haymitch is a waste of air, Madge loves the bastard, and having him being whisked away alongside Gale is devastating to her.

Reaching out, Gale tries to wipe a few fresh tears from her face, but only ends up smearing them across her cheek.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

She nods and rubs her nose. "I know."

Before Gale can offer another pointless apology, Madge grabs him by the collar and pulls him down, pressing her tear soaked lips to his.

"Please come back, Gale. Please," she pleads against his mouth. "If you get killed for this-for me-"

"I won't," he promises, his rough hands tangling in her hair, holding her in place. He wants as many moments with her before Wiress and the witch whisk them away.

It's a sign of how dire things are, that neither Rory nor Vick says anything about the kissing. Normally teasing Gale is a top priority, but for the moment they're silent, hugging their dad and comforting their mother.

Pulling back, just enough to feel the heat from her panting breath on his face, Gale whispers, "I'm coming home."

And they're going to have a life. He's going to build her a house without drafts and leaks. He's going to teach her to cook. They're going to get married someday and have kids and the Reapings and Games will be nothing more than a chapter in history books.

Madge's eyes, still wet and painfully blue, stare into his, her warm breath tickling the little hairs at the back of Gale's neck as she tries to steady her breathing out.

She isn't convinced this isn't a suicide mission, but that's okay. Gale knows it isn't. He'll have enough faith for the both of them.

Heavy footsteps clank at the top of the stairs and Gale lets his gaze follow Madge's as she looks up to the noise.

Haymitch, looking as though he's just washed his face, probably at Matilda's insistence, pulls on a heavy looking dark coat and slowly makes his way downstairs.

He doesn't say anything to Gale, despite the fact that one of his hands has migrated to Madge's waist, a little lower if he's honest.

Taking a ragged breath, bracing himself for what's to come, Haymitch gives Wiress a hard look.

"Let's get this over with."

#######

Haymitch has never hated Wiress.

It would be too easy to hate her, and his life has never been any kind of easy.

If she were evil, a monster that enjoys devouring the lives of fellow Victors, then he could hate her, but she isn't. She's just a person doing a job, protecting her family.

Still, his sympathy for her is always strained. She's against Snow, but she's survived by pulling strings for him. His head puppetmaster.

At least she'd given him a moment to tell Matilda goodbye.

Not that she'd remember. The morphling he'd given her had already seeped into system, made her doe eyes heavy and her mind clouded.

"I'll see you later, sweetheart," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She'd turned her face to his voice, eyes less than cracked open, murmuring something incoherent before drifting off completely.

It's probably for the best, she's unpredictable under stress and Wiress stealing him for an unscheduled trip to the Capitol definitely qualifies as stressful.

"Do what Madge says. She's a smart kid. She'll keep you both alive." At least that's what he keeps telling himself.

This isn't one of his normal trips. He can't be sure what Madge will or won't be able to do, he can only hope.

Giving her one last kiss, a soft peck on her cheek, Haymitch gets up and goes to the bathroom. He needs to wash his face. He isn't marching into hell with tears on his face.

When he gets downstairs, the coat Matilda likes him to wear pulled on, and spots Hawthorne, hands all over Madge, he doesn't even have the energy to tell him off. There's not much point in it anyway. They're probably all doomed.

"Let's get this over with," he grumbles at Wiress.

Madge's chilly little hand suddenly wraps around his, and before he's even turned to look at her, she's flung her arms around him.

She starts silently sobbing on his chest, mumbling 'I'm sorry' over and over again.

Carefully, he's always treated her like glass, even though she's proven time and again she's tougher than he's ever wanted to have to be, he wraps his arms around her and rests his cheek against her hair.

"Shhhh," he tries to quiet her.

It isn't fair, he thinks, that she's going to lose more people she loves. Madge and Matilda are the only bright spots in his miserable life, and he's failed to do what he'd promised them he would, years ago when he'd plucked them out of the state run holes they'd been tossed in.

He's a failed her. Just like he failed his mom and brother, just like he'd failed with Laurel. It's the only thing, other than drinking, that he's any good at.

Turning his face away from the others, he lets a few tears slip out and drop onto into her hair.

"Take care of your momma, okay, Pearl?" He breathes against her hair, trying and failing to keep his voice steady.

He feels her nod and hears her sniffle.

"I love you, kiddo, don't forget it."

He feels the heat of her sigh through his shirt.

"I love you, too, Haymitch."

A few more tears drop into her hair as he tightens his hug. He doesn't want to go. It feels too much like when he was Reaped, telling his mom and Graeme goodbye and not being certain he'd ever see them again.

Before he loses what little bit of control he has left, Haymitch pulls back and kisses her forehead.

He locks his jaw, scrubs a hand over his face, and turns to Wiress. She and the kid, dressed like some sort of moss covered monstrosity, exchange a glance before looking out at the men.

"Gentlemen," Wiress smiles grimly, "it's time to make history."

#######

They won't let Hazelle and the kids, or even Madge and Katniss, come to see them off.

"This isn't a cruise," Phoebe tells them, her arms crossed and her eyebrows knitted together. "We can't risk Peacekeepers spotting you idiots wandering around in the dark and asking questions."

"Like they're not going to notice you," Katniss growls.

Phoebe's eyebrows rise. "Not being noticed is my specialty." Her mouth turns up on a mocking smile. "Kinda like how having a stick up your ass is yours."

That nearly results on another fight, only averted by Jude quietly telling Katniss it isn't worth it.

So with a final set of hugs and a few tearful kisses, the men trudge out into the dark, trailing after Wiress and Phoebe.

They take a trail Asher has never used. It winds through thick branches, tangled together like wood lace without their leaves, for only a few minutes before they come up on the train tracks.

For several cold minutes they follow the tracks, until they come upon the sleek silver train.

Wiress turns to them, pulling her long, dark coat closer together, and jerks her head toward the side.

They stay close to the frozen side of the train, for what feels like an eternity. Every little noise, from the train or from the trees to their other side, sets Asher's nerves on ends.

Finally, Wiress comes to a stop and pulls what Asher assumes is a key from her pocket and presses it to the side of the train.

A door slides open silently, letting heat leak out onto the men and causing Asher's bones to ache.

"Come along," she says briskly, not looking back as she steps up.

Inside is packed, from ceiling to floor, with luggage, boxes, and crates. Some of it is barely closed and some is opened, lavish clothes spilling out onto the floor. What must be hundreds of elaborate boots are lined up along the opposite wall and several cases of what looks to be liquor are stacked at the back.

It's tight, but not uncomfortable.

Haymitch's eyes, still a little puffy and red, instantly land on the drinks.

"Well, it's not a complete loss," he mutters, taking a step toward the cases.

He's stopped in his tracks by Wiress grabbing him by the ear.

"No, Haymitch," she scolds, almost motherly. "We have to have you at your sharpest."

Gale manages to halfway muffle his snort of laughter.

Asher looks back at him, and Gale lets a small smile tick at the edges of his mouth.

"Sharp, right."

It's almost enough to make Asher laugh.

"Wiress!" Haymitch hisses as she tows him toward the opening in the mess that must lead to the rest of the train. "I'm not your kid!"

"Then stop acting like a child," she tells him evenly.

"I can have a drink if I want," he tells her. "I'm not like I used to be."

"And we have Mr. Hawthorne and Mr. Everdeen to thank for that," she counters coolly.

That silences Haymitch.

Asher glances at Jude and sees that he's just as pale and worried as Asher feels. Wiress has clearly had them on her radar for years, and the thought terrifies him.

Haymitch glares at her for several seconds as she smiles serenely, unnervingly, back.

Finally, Wiress' eyebrows rise. "If it makes you feel any better, I've cut Chaff off as well."

Judging by Haymitch's sour expression, it doesn't.

"If you want to spend the majority of your time unconscious, I can have Phoebe sedate you," she offers, a little too casually.

The girl reaches in her pocket and produces a small vial, shaking it with a smile. "It works for twelve hours, side effects are bowel and bladder incontinence, memory loss, and flatulence, at least according to boys I used it on the other night. They thought it was food poisoning."

"You had me at 'incontinence'," Haymitch mumbles, rubbing his hands over his face. He scowls at Wiress and waves his hand toward the front of the train. "Lead the way, sweetheart."

With that he follows her, stomping irritably as he does and knocking a few bits of luggage from the stacks, falling open and spilling their wild contents all across the floor.

The men look around, trying to figure out where exactly they're supposed to stow themselves, when a Birdy suddenly starts talking.

Asher nearly startles, he'd forgotten she was still there. She's remarkably easy to forget about.

"Make yourselves comfortable," she advises them. "You'll be back here while we make the final stop in Eleven. Then we leave for the Capitol."

"What if someone comes back here?" Thom asks, looking genuinely concerned.

She shakes her head. "These are the 'used' props and clothing, and reserve liquor. It's slated for recycling once we're back in the Capitol. No one has a reason to come back here except us."

That's a small, and not altogether solid, comfort, but Asher supposes it's the best they'll get.

Fixing a false smile on her face that reminds Asher a little of Caesar Flickerman's, she claps her hands together. "Dolces sueños."

With that she turns and leaves.

Thom and Arran silently start searching around for a clear spot to sleep and Jude settles on top of a box of frilly garments, but Gale takes off after the girl.

Knowing that nothing good can come of his son being alone with her, Asher weaves through the narrow maze of clothing and crates, quickly catching up with Gale.

"Hey," Gale calls out lowly, trying to get Phoebe's attention. When she doesn't hear, or more likely ignores him, Gale makes a growling noise and lurches forward, catching her by the strap if her bag. He snaps, "I said 'hey'."

She jerks away. "Hands off, Dorothy." Her green lips press into an irritable line. "And I heard you just fine. It's called ignoring. You have sibling, you should be familiar with the practice."

Gale raises his hands as a sign of surrender, and takes a step back.

"I just wanted to ask you a question," he tells her.

Waving a hand, huffs, "Well?"

"Why did you lie?" Gale asks immediately. His eyes narrow. "What do you get out of it?"

"Be a little more specific," she prompts him airily. "I lie an awful lot."

Gale's jaw tightens. "Why did you tell them you picked them?"

"Didn't I?" She grins.

"You had my list," Gale growls. "I don't know how you did it, but you did. Now, why did you lie?"

She shrugs. "Warm and fuzzies?"

Gale crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at her, clearly disbelieving.

Rolling her eyes, she adjusts the strap on her shoulder. "Fine." She gives Gale a superior little glare. "It would be counterproductive to have all of them hate you, and Sunshine needed a little cooling down or she'd be useless to help your little girlfriend. Besides, they already hate me and Wiress, what's one more mark against us?"

For a minute Gale just stares at her, searching her unreadable expression for a tell she's lying, any little twitch or blink, before finally nodding.

Without a word, he turns and squeezes past Asher, heading back to find a place to bed down for the night.

Asher watches him go for a moment, his tall frame twisting and bending through the maze, disappearing from view, before turning back to Phoebe.

"Was that the truth?" He asks. Her lie had confused him too, but despite the seeming solidness of her words, something doesn't sit evenly about it with him.

Phoebe shrugs, her mouth turning down at the corners. "It made him happy, so does it matter?"

"I get the impression that no one's happiness is much a matter to you. Besides, I like the truth," Asher answers. "It's good to be honest."

"Not always," she sighs.

Giving him a slight smile, she turns and steps through the exit, into the next train car.

Taking that as a dismissal, Asher starts to turn, stopping when he hears a soft sigh.

Phoebe has stopped and is leaning against the doorframe, staring at the ground.

"I get the impression that you're a pretty well liked guy, and despite his less than brilliant personality, Dorothy is too." She rubs her eyes and sniffs. "I'm used to people hating me."

She starts to leave and Asher frowns at her back.

"Is that the truth?"

He hopes not. No one deserves to have that kind of weight on them, constantly expecting to be disliked.

Not even turning she answers, "Maybe."


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.

Hazelle watches Madge stare at the door, now closed and locked.

Asher is gone, Gale is gone, they're all gone, and they may never see them again

Katniss had stormed out shortly after Wiress had taken them. She hadn't said a word to anyone, just thrown the door open and stomped off, leaving the door hanging open and a gust of cold in a wake. Her anger was clearly not past yet. Somehow, Hazelle doubts it ever will.

Madge had started to sob again after that, and Peeta Mellark had quickly pulled her into a hug and soothed her.

"It's going to be okay," he told them all, looking around with painfully honest eyes. He believed the lie he was telling, just like Gale did, and that frightened Hazelle more than anything. If there was one thing they didn't need, it was another unreasonably optimistic person.

After a few minutes he'd let Madge go and followed after Katniss, promising Madge he'd talk to her, get her to see that things were going to be okay. How he planned on doing that, exactly, Hazelle wasn't sure, but she didn't altogether care. She had bigger problems than Katniss' fit at the moment.

"I'm very persuasive," he assured them as he buttoned up his coat and pulled on his lopsided stocking cap, before vanishing out into the cold, dark night.

As rooted to the spot as she felt, Hazelle had started to gather up her children. They had to get home and plan what lie they'd tell the foreman when he inevitably came around for Gale and Asher. "We should go."

Madge's eyes had widened and tears had begun to fill them again, much to Hazelle's distress.

"Don't cry," Vick had told her, running at her and flinging his arms around her middle. "It's gonna be okay, Madge."

Unable to stop the tears that had started down her cheeks, Madge had weakly clung to him, sniffling against his hair and telling him 'I'm sorry'.

Hazelle wanted to snap at her to dry it up. She was the root of all this trouble, her and her mother. If they didn't exist then Asher's guilt over the mayor wouldn't have a physical manifestation. He would've moved past that mistake years ago and never prompted Gale to keep an eye on Madge. If she didn't exist then Gale wouldn't have gotten dragged into this mess, no matter what that awful girl said.

They'd both be here and safe, not on a train to their deaths.

Misery in the mines was better than as good as dead on a train bound for the Capitol.

That's not how the cards had been dealt, though, and Hazelle, as much as anyone, knows that you play what you're given.

Madge is as much a victim of circumstance as Hazelle and Asher, as much as anyone, she doesn't deserve scorn. She's probably got enough of that for herself already.

Setting Posy down, Hazelle had walked to Madge and pulled her from Vick, he was hanging on a little too long, and into a motherly hug. "Shush."

She couldn't tell her it was going to be okay, she couldn't lie, not like Gale and Peeta, but she could do what little she could to ease her pain.

Madge hadn't caused this, and she didn't deserve to be punished for it.

When she'd cried herself out, Hazelle had pulled back and smoothed hair down. "Gale loves you so much, Madge. Don't be sorry for anything."

Nodding, Madge had rubbed her nose, red and raw from sniffling, and looked around at the kids, standing in mute shock.

"Please stay. Just tonight." She'd glanced up at the stairs, so quick Hazelle had almost missed it. "I don't want to be alone."

And her mother wasn't going to be much company; that much was apparent.

As much as Hazelle wanted nothing more than to go home and curl up in her bed, hold Asher's pillow and pretend that none of this was happening, Gale wouldn't want Madge to be alone.

So she'd stayed. She owes that to her baby boy.

Now they were all bedded down on the living room floor, around the fireplace.

Rory and Vick had pushed the coffee table back, making it easier to sleep near the warmth, and Madge had brought down dozens of heavy quilts, creating a pallet on the floor.

Hazelle and Posy had taken the couch, while Vick and Rory had battled for position nearer to Madge.

"Vick gets the middle spot," Hazelle had finally told them. It was the least objectionable choice, but not by much.

Both boys were asleep now, Vick curled into a ball and Rory splayed out wildly, blankets kicked off. Posy is wedged between Hazelle and the back of the couch, her little arm flung over her eyes and her legs thrown over Hazelle's middle.

Madge is still awake, just like Hazelle, her hands folded under her chin as she stares at the door.

"Gale will come back," Hazelle tells her softly. It may end up a lie, but it's what Madge needs to hear to survive this at the moment.

"I hope so," Madge sighs.

"Have faith," Hazelle tells her, even though she hasn't got much herself. "They'll come back."

Pushing herself up, Madge draws her legs to her chest in a hug and rests her chin on her knees.

"Do you really believe that?"

She doesn't, not really, but she's made a life out of putting on a strong front and muddling through. This is one more obstacle she has to overcome, and she has to teach Madge resilience. For Gale.

Forcing a smile, she nods. "I do."

#######

Gale feels his stomach lurch, a gentle roll, and his eyes slowly peek open, burning in the dry, sickly-sweet air.

He's surrounded by gaudy outfits and uncomfortable looking shoes, vibrant wigs and crates of extra liquor. It hadn't been a nightmare, then. Damn.

Managing to keep his groan in, he sits up, accidentally sending a blanket, thick and woolly, falling from his shoulders and to the ground.

Picking it up, he winds it around his hand and stuffs it beside him, between his thigh and the wall of the train, before looking around.

Faint light is seeping in, through narrow windows along the top of the car, catching in the dust floating heavily in the air. They're almost blocked out by the stacks of crap, and if it weren't for the almost nonexistent sunlight, Gale wouldn't have even noticed them.

Everyone else is asleep still, curled up in uncomfortable positions.

Thom's gangly legs are hanging over the edge of the truck he'd settled on, several frilly dresses covering him, and Arran's bulky frame is scrunched up, snoring on a stack of sequined dresses, a few tossed over his middle for warmth. Jude is sitting upright, coat pulled tight around him, face pressed against the hip of a seamstress mannequin. Gale's own dad is flopped wildly in a box of surprisingly soft looking suits, a coat thrown over his front.

Curious, Gale stands and pops his back before climbing onto a crate and trying to pull himself up to the window.

He succeeds halfway, managing to get his eyes just over the edge of the window.

It's gray and gloomy outside, a miserable drizzle steadily saturating the ground beside the tracks. Block like buildings surround the train tracks, sitting dully under the cloudy sky.

"Are we there yet?"

Thom sits up, bleary eyed and yawning, knocking several dresses off his middle as he stretches.

"I think we're in Eleven," Gale tells him. It's the only explanation for the stop.

Thom gets up, knocking over a suitcase and nearly waking the others before he makes his way over to Gale and tries to crawl up next to him. "What do you see?"

Grabbing Thom by the collar of his shirt, Gale hoists him up onto the crate. "A whole lot of nothing."

And some clouds.

Thom cranes his neck, one eye looking out. "That isn't a lie."

They both drop down on their heels, and Thom stuffs his hands in his pockets, glancing around the room.

"Look," Thom starts, sucking in a long breath, "I'm not mad about all this."

Gale nods.

"You'd be on this train, riding off like some crazy asshole whether me and my dad were here or not." He shrugs. "Besides, this may be shitty, but it's better than the mines."

That isn't a lie. Although the stacks of boxes seem just as likely to collapse on them as the mine walls.

A little smile finally twitches up on Gale's lips despite himself. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." He jerks his head toward Jude. "And for what it's worth, I don't think Jude will kill you. Katniss on the other hand..."

Gale laughs, a little uneasily.

"But just to ease your mind, I'll take care of Madge when your other best friend loses her marbles and skins you alive."

It's funny, but at the same time, not. Thom's little joke reminds Gale that Katniss and her fury are the least of his worries.

He could die. He's going into the heart of the beast that's been trying to kill him since he was born, and there's a very real possibility that he might not come back, leaving Madge and his family exposed.

As quickly as the doubts come up, Gale pushes them down. Failure isn't an option. He can't think about it.

"Thanks," he tells Thom again.

#######

Just as Asher's stomach starts to rumble, an hour or so after he wakes up from an unrefreshing, restless sleep, to find Gale and Thom playing a game of checkers they'd apparently found in one of the crates, Phoebe comes in, her gray bag bulging.

"I didn't know what you boys liked," she explains as she dumps the contents of her bag out on one of the larger crates. Scooping up a small, black round disk and a few strangely colored cylinders, she stuffs them back in her bag before gesturing to the food. "Enjoy."

A few of the foods Asher recognizes, apples and nuts and some dried meat, all neatly stored in plastic containers, but others are foreign.

"What's this?" He holds up a slice of something yellow, clearly a portion of something much larger.

"Pineapple," she tells him. "I like those. They raise them in the far western part of District Eleven. They like it warm."

Taking a cautious bite, Asher smiles. It's strange, but not unpleasant.

Peaches and bananas and several types of exotic cheeses are strewn out, and the men quickly sample a little of each.

"That's nice," Arran murmurs as he takes another slice of pineapple Thom offers him.

"Here's some water," Phoebe says, handing them each one of the strange clear bottles. "I'll bring you some more later, but my bag was full."

With that she leaves, quietly vanishing back into the maze of luggage, out to do whatever things occupy her time.

After that, the day drags by.

The rain picks up, splattering noisily on the roof as the men play endless games of chess, cards, and tick-tack-toe, while slowly picking at the dwindling bits of breakfast.

Occasionally they hear voices or shuffling, Capitol accents chattering on about costume changes and 'love triangles' on some silly show, but beyond that, they're useless.

Jude doesn't speak. Not to Asher, not to Gale, and not to Arran and Thom, just watches and listens, a somber expression etched on his face.

When the sun finally disappears, dropping slowly below the horizon and out of view, taking the last bit of natural light from them, causing the weird round lights along the roof to come on at full power, and all the food has been whittled down to stems and hulls, Wiress' sharp tones, alongside Haymitch's lazy ones and a male voice Asher doesn't know, finally come through the door.

It takes a minute for them to appear, wiggling through the mess of stacked luggage, but when they do, they look damp and tired.

"I see you've occupied your time," Wiress says, surveying the makeshift table, mess of cards, and dropped playing pieces with disinterest.

"Not much else to do," Gale grumbles at her.

She either doesn't hear or chooses to ignore him, because she doesn't comment, just carries on.

"We'll be leaving soon and we'll arrive in the Capitol in a couple of days. Phoebe will bring you a changes of clothing and food, explain where you'll be going once you're in the Capitol, what you'll be expected to do."

Asher frowns and glances around.

Their little guardian is nowhere to be seen.

"I'm Chaff, since Wiress and Haymitch aren't going to make any introductions," the giant man behind her suddenly introduces himself, holding out an enormous dark hand. "Thank you."

It's the first acknowledgment that they're doing something they should get any kind of praise for, and Asher can't help but smile at it.

Chaff grins as Asher slowly reaches out and takes his hand, giving it a firm shake.

He takes each of their hands and shakes them, giving each man a once over with cheerful, if a little pinkened, eyes.

Walking over to one of the crates, he starts to open it, but Wiress makes a low noise, almost a hiss, and he stops.

"Aw, come on, Wiress. One little drink?"

"No," she tells him sharply. "I need you on your toes not on your faces when this goes down."

Something buzzes and Wiress rolls her eyes, looking down to her wrist and her strangely glowing watch.

"I have to go make some editing decisions," she sighs, her expression sour. Clearly she thinks whatever she's been called to do is beneath her, but she's obligated to go anyway.

Just as she turns, pulling her dark coat close around her, green hair bobs into view.

"Phoebe, make sure to get these men some food," she tells her as she passes, not even bothering with an actual look of acknowledgment.

Phoebe salutes her mockingly. "Yes, ma'am."

Haymitch and Chaff exchange a look.

"You not feed these guys already, Bird?" Chaff asks her, looking more confused than worried, once Wiress is safely away.

She arches an eyebrow and points to one of the discarded water bottles and one of the empty containers that she'd brought fruit in earlier. "What do you think?"

Opening her bag, she pulls out several more little containers and bottles of water, handing them to the men.

"Honestly, Wiress and Beetee are good at the big picture, but I'm the details girl." She rolls her eyes. "Heaven forbid she ever get a pet."

Asher thinks that's a bit ominous, his life is in their hands, but doesn't say anything.

Taking the container handed to him, he drops onto the box behind him and opens it up, plucking up an olive and popping it in his mouth.

Chaff collapses, quite literally, onto the crate of liquor he'd wanted to open and groans, popping his neck before sighing.

"So," he lounges back, tapping his hand, his only hand Asher suddenly realizes, against the wood of the crate, "which of you is the little bastard putting the moves on Haymitch's little princess?"

Asher isn't sure whose look is more disgusted, Gale's or Haymitch's.

"That cheerful fellow right over there," Thom tells him, helpfully pointing to Gale, now slumped down and glaring. "He's the one steeling poor Madge's respectability."

Chaff grins, picking up one of the little contains Phoebe had set out on the overturned box they'd been using for poker, and takes out a piece of dried meat, eyeing it suspiciously before tearing a chunk off with his teeth.

"Bit off a bit more than you expected, huh?" He laughs, chewing loudly.

Gale makes a noncommittal grunting noise, taking a long drink from his new water bottle.

"Girls'll always get you in trouble," Chaff tells him, waving a piece of jerky at him. "Look at Wiress, look at Bird-"

"Hey!" She glares, a little half-heartedly, jabbing a green bean in his direction. "You like us!"

"That's what makes you so much trouble," he chuckles. "And I'm not even trying to get in your pants."

Haymitch shoots Gale a very nasty look at that, as though he'd suggested doing something filthy with Madge himself, and Asher wonders if he might not want to sit a little closer to his son from here on out. With each passing minute, Haymitch is looking more and more likely to kill Gale than the Capitol.

"That is your claim," Phoebe laughs, snapping a bean off and tossing it at him. It bounces harmlessly off his knee and he lets out a bark of laughter.

Asher snorts into his plastic bowl, earning a dark look from Gale. Putting another olive in his mouth and squishing it to his cheek, Asher gives Gale an apologetic smile.

"She's a pretty one though. I'd be tempted too if I were you," Chaff adds. He leans toward Haymitch. "Takes after her momma, right Haymitch?"

Whether Haymitch agrees or not, Asher isn't sure, he just glares irritably at Chaff for a minute before running his tongue over his teeth and sighing before flopping down beside him.

"Can you not find a new subject?" He grumbles, popping a cherry tomato into his mouth and chewing angrily.

"I like this one," Chaff says simply. He turns back to Gale. "You're a pretty one, too. You make it outta this and you'll have some lookers for kids." He jabs Haymitch in the side with his elbow. "Ready for that, gramps?"

Asher doesn't like the topic much after that either. Future grandchildren are too much to think about when he's just trying to keep Gale and his other children alive.

"Uh, how are you sneaking all this food out, Phoebe?" He asks, hoping it's an interesting enough story to distract from nonexistent grandchildren.

"I said 'I'm taking this shit for later' and I took it."

So…not that interesting.

"You do that often?" Arran frowns. "They just let you?"

"I'm a Victor," she answers, a chilly little smile tugging up at her green lips. "There aren't a lot of people that question me."

Judging by the looks on Thom, Arran, and Jude exchange, they certainly wouldn't. With her green hair and the off-kilter gleam in her eye, even if she weren't a Victor she wouldn't be much fun to question.

Gale on the other hand, looks unimpressed.

"Right, you probably just dug it all outta the trash," he huffs, eyeing the small purple spheres in his container suspiciously.

She smiles sweetly. "The only thing from the garbage in here is y-"

"Phoebe," Chaff cuts her off. "Down, girl."

Her mouth snaps shut and she stares at him for a moment, eyes wide and curious. She frowns after a moment, a look of dawning understanding slowly coming over her expression.

"Too mean?"

He nods then looks around at the men, frowning slightly. "Her moral compass is a bit askew."

"She has no moral compass," Haymitch grumbles, pushing himself up and stretching. He snaps his fingers. "You got any painkillers on you, kid?"

She glares at him for a minute, though Asher isn't sure if she's offended that he doesn't think she has a moral compass or because of his tone.

"Not any that'll work on you," she finally snorts, smiling coolly at him.

"Then come help me get some," he grunts, pointing at the exit. "Come on, girl, can't wait all night."

He grabs Chaff by the collar and pulls him up. "You're coming too."

"I'm having fun talking with your future something-in-law," Chaff tells him, attempting to wiggle from his grasp, still grinning widely.

"That's why you're coming."

Stomping a little, Haymitch drags Chaff with him, Phoebe trailing behind them.

Before she vanishes, Phoebe tosses a smile over her shoulder. "I'll be back in a few hours to give you some new clothes."

And with that, her green dress whips out of view.

#######

Haymitch grumbles, rubbing his temples as Bird digs through a bag, tossing rattling bottles over her shoulder in her quest to find him something for his headache.

"I think this should do," she finally says, holding out a white bottle to him.

"What is it?"

"Don't worry," she answers, taking it back and opening the lid, shaking a couple of pills into his palm. "If it can handle my 'lady troubles' it can handle your 'drinking troubles'."

Glaring, he tosses the pills in his mouth and swallows them dry.

"I don't have 'drinking troubles'," he grunts. "I have 'not-drinking troubles'."

"Thought you said you slowed down?" Chaff asks, voice muffled, his head in the tiny refrigerator, looking for anything, even a wine cooler.

"I have," Haymitch answers, pressing his fingers to his eyes. "Just not when I go to this place."

Groaning, he settles down on the bed, hopeful for a better night's rest than the last.

"This 'cause I called you grandpa?" Chaff asks, flopping into a chair, empty handed.

Haymitch considers throwing a pillow at him, but doesn't have the strength. "No."

Chaff laughs.

"Just picturing you with a baby warms my cold dead heart," Bird chirps as she emerges from the bathroom, rubbing the makeup from her face.

"You haven't got a heart," he snaps at her.

Her eyebrows pull together and her expression softens, and for a second Haymitch feels bad. She hasn't done anything wrong. In fact, he'd rather deal with her than Wiress. At least she has an upper limit to her acceptable losses. She's going to save Madge and Matilda, the whole District if she really can manage it. Whatever plan she's given Madge, she's got two or three more fail-safes of her own, and that eases Haymitch's mind. She's nothing if not effective.

She's an easier target than Wiress though, or at least a safer target. She's never killed anyone he cares about, not yet anyways. He hopes it stays that way.

"Yeah," she laughs suddenly, unnaturally high, her face hidden in the rag she's using to clean her face. "Who needs a heart? Useless in this line of work."

He hates it when she acts like this. It reminds him that she isn't Wiress in miniature more than he likes to admit. She's just a stupid kid, being used just as much as everyone else.

Before he can apologize, she's pulled several garment bags from under the bed and started for the door.

"Go to your own rooms," she shouts at them before letting the door snap closed behind her.

"Why you gotta be such a dick, Haymitch?" Chaff asks, pushing himself out of his chair and holding out his hand, offering him a hand up.

"Birds gotta fly, fish gotta swim, my friend." And he's a dick, so a dick he shall be.

Chaff nods and hits the button, opening the door.

"We're also Victors," he says, grinning. "Let's hope that means victors we shall be."

Haymitch nods. He hopes so too.

#######

Gale is halfway asleep, the lumpy, scratchy blanket pulled up to his neck and his legs tucked at an odd angle, one of them a little tingly so he shifts it, when soft footsteps make him peek an eye open.

His dad, the only person still awake, greets whoever is interrupting their evening.

"Bringing the clothes?"

Something softly lands on the ground, just out of view.

"You people really do go to bed early, don't you?" Alameda asks, stepping just into Gale's narrow view, between some luggage and several ornate dresses hanging on a rolling rack.

She's still in her horribly green dress, but her hair is pulled back, in an enormous bun, and her makeup has been scrubbed away. It makes her look almost human again, and Gale doesn't like that. She's easier to hate looking like one of them.

"We're used to it," his dad tells her. "Didn't your dad have to wake up early? To, uh, do his job?"

He's fishing, like he always does. Trying to find common ground with her, make her a friend. It's laughable to Gale, but his dad always tries the route of kindness, even when the person he's pushing it on doesn't deserve it.

"No one is completely awful," he'd told Gale, when he'd come home from school after a fight, scuffed palms and skinned knees.

"Those boys from Town are," Gale had mumbled.

They talked down about the girls, ones like his Aunt Olive, who were just trying to survive, and Gale had bloodied one of their noses. He'd have bloodied the other boy's too, but the teacher had caught him and taken his recess away. A light punishment for fighting, but it had only been his first during school hours.

"They were talking crap about Tansy," he grumbled.

"Watch your language," his dad warned him. Then he'd sighed. "They don't understand things here, Gale. They don't understand what some of us have to do to survive. We don't know everything about what they have to do either."

Gale hadn't thought there could be much about Town life he couldn't figure out at the time. It seemed cushy and comfortable from his point of view.

It wasn't until his dad told him to watch after Madge, when she'd been thrown in the home, that he began to see the cracks in the lives of people from Town.

Rhys Mellark always wore long sleeves, even during the summer. The tailor's kids were constantly in the nurses' office, complaining of odd illnesses. None of them were plump and cheerful, just cleaner and better dressed.

Madge Undersee was tossed away, forgotten about before the dirt had even settled on her father's grave. She and her mother, despite being as Town as any of them, weren't even afforded even a false display of comfort.

When Madge had shown up to school, in a poorly fitted dress and her hair a dirty mess, despite her small attempts to fix it while she waited in line, Gale finally appreciated what his dad had been trying to tell him. The Seam, as bad as it was, took care of its own. The Town turned its back when it was convenient.

"Everyone has their problems, Gale, you just don't know about them."

Even with his new insight, Gale hadn't tried to befriend the kids from Town, he just hadn't jumped into fights quite as fast. It was the best he could do.

Now his dad is trying to find the 'not awful' in someone even less relatable to them than the kids from Town.

Squinting, Gale can just barely see Alameda's face pinch up as she shrugs. "He did, but he also died when I was eight, so my memory of it is a bit foggy."

His dad leans forward, just barely in Gale's view, and nods, popping another olive in his mouth, pushing it to the side with his tongue as he thinks. Gale can almost see his mind reaching for something else to say.

"You'll need to have them try these on when they get up," Alameda fills in the silence. "I'll need to make alterations so you all don't stand out."

"Oh, you sew?" Gale's dad smiles, finally swallowing the olive.

Alameda wrinkles her nose. "A little. There's a friendly Avox that can do what I can't."

"Hazelle, my wife, she's a great seamstress," his dad tells her, staring down at the empty containers, all stacked in front of him. "Learned from her mother. She makes quilts."

He's babbling, and Gale cringes. He's tired, past tired, actually. He'd told Gale his sleep had been terrible the night before, and his mind is still trapped in Twelve, with Gale's mother, Rory, Vick, and Posy.

"I learned from books," Alameda tells him, dropping down, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I've had a lot of time on my hands for a while now."

"When you aren't spying on people?" Gale hears the trace of a smile in his dad's voice.

"Some people have more interesting lives than others," she answers simply, reaching into the container in Gale's dad's hand and stealing the last olive.

"Did you really have pictures of Gale and Madge?"

Gale's ears perk up a little more at that.

Alameda laughs, bites the olive in half and hands the uneaten portion to Gale's dad. He takes it and squints at her.

"Don't worry, I won't hand anything that'll get your crabby progeny killed." She gets up and straightens her dress. "Unless I get bored. It is kinda a long train ride."

#######

Madge walks the Hawthornes home.

The sun is up, but only barely able to peek through the dreary gray clouds still leaking a miserable drizzle on District Twelve.

They hear some men grumbling about the mines being flooded out, something that hasn't happened in decades according to Hazelle.

"Looks like some of the pumps just died too," an old man, cracked and weathered looking, tells Mrs. Hawthorne. He squints at the group, frowning at Madge. "Where's Asher and your other one?"

"They have the flu," Mrs. Hawthorne tells him, a little clumsily, almost forgetting the lie.

It was all spelled out in the papers Birdy had left. Gale and his dad were down with the flu. It would ensure no one came by and discovered they were missing.

'no one likes the flu' Birdy had scribbled in the margin next to it, adding 'they'll stay away'.

Which was almost painfully true.

The flu, for people in the Seam, who were all often underfed and sickly on good days, the flu could be deadly. No one would venture to the Hawthorne house for a week at least. The only reason Hazelle and the kids were out, Madge had quickly formed another lie, was to get some food from Madge and to tell her about the illness. It was all neat and tidy. At least for a few days, hopefully.

"Shitty way to spend such a nice day off." The man chuckles at his own joke before dissolving into a pained cough and walking away.

"Did they wreck the mines?" Vick asks her softly, after making sure they've cleared the few people that had braved coming out in the rain.

Madge isn't sure, but she thinks the answer is yes. There was no mention of it in the papers, but since it wasn't something they absolutely needed to know, Madge supposes its omission makes sense. Wiress always seems at least a half step ahead of everyone else, it wouldn't surprise Madge if she'd sabotaged the mines herself.

With an uncertain shrug, Madge gives him a little nudge in the direction of the house.

Gray water sloshes over the top of Madge's mud boots as they finally reach the Hawthorne house.

The curtains, thin and patched, are luckily pulled, blocking any prying eyes from looking in. No one will know the house is empty.

The porch creaks loudly, as they step up and Mrs. Hawthorne fishes the key out and opens the door, pushing Rory, carrying a still sleeping Posy, inside as Vick flings his arms around Madge before he can be forced in as well.

"You'll come by and see us?" He asks, peering up at her through dark lashes.

Tightening her arms around him, Madge nods and whispers, "I'll be by tomorrow."

After a shade too long, Mrs. Hawthorne tugs Vick by the back of his shirt and gently pushes him in the door.

She stares at Madge for a minute, then, after a beat of hesitation pulls Madge into a hug.

"They're going to make it."

Madge feels tears spring to her eyes and she furiously tries to blink them away as she nods.

Mrs. Hawthorne has just as much on the line as Madge, and she isn't falling apart. Madge owes it to Gale to at least pretend to be strong for his family.

Pulling back, she wipes her eyes.

"So are we," she tells her thickly. Rubbing her nose, she swallows down a lump and starts to step down. "I'll be by tomorrow, with Peeta and Katniss."

According to the numberless papers, when the train reaches the Capitol, in another day or so, they have to be ready. The announcement of the Quarter Quell will be their mark, and if they aren't prepared, their District will suffer for it.

"We'll be ready," Mrs. Hawthorne tells her, forcing a smile.

Madge nods. She hopes she's ready too.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.

Gale stares down at his exposed ankles and frowns.

"I may have misjudged how tall you all are," Alameda says, scratching her head with a seam ripper and frowning.

Thom looks indignant as he holds out his arms, the sleeves pulling well above his wrists. "You think?"

Scowling at him, she huffs. "Well, what do I look like? A stylist?"

In Gale's mind, she's clearly as badly dressed as any stylist he's ever seen, but he keeps his mouth shut. She's got an object just sharp enough to cause him some real damage in one hand and hasn't brought them their breakfast, he doesn't want to provoke her, at least not until she's fed him.

His dad couldn't zip his jacket up, Jude's pants wouldn't button, and Arran was the worst off. The second he'd pulled his pants up a loud tearing noise had filled the compartment and he'd winced, turning an amazing shade of red.

The pants had been patched, rather sloppily Gale thought, and the jacket and waist were easy enough to let out, but Gale and Thom's strange little uniforms are posing more of a problem.

She starts digging through some of the trunks, looking for who knows what, but comes up empty.

"You'll just have to live with it."

Gale doesn't normally care what he's wearing, he's got it on good authority that he looks great in anything, but for some reason he doesn't want to parade around the Capitol looking like he's borrowed Rory's clothes.

"I'm not wearing this," he tells her through gritted teeth. It's humiliating.

"You don't have a choice," she snips back, faux pleasantly, her unnaturally white teeth flashing.

And really, he doesn't.

Earlier, before anyone had fully woken, Wiress and Alameda had blown in, expressing the first hints of real emotion Gale's seen in them.

"They've changed the timetable," Wiress had snapped. "They're moving up the train's arrival time and having the announcement the evening we get there." She glared at Alameda. "How did they keep this change quiet? We should've known."

Or, judging by the dark look she gave Alameda, she should've known.

The girl just huffed. "This is Beetee's area, not mine. He monitors this stuff."

"Well it was your contact that apparently failed."

"Mine?"

"Or Finnicks."

Things started dissolving from there, Wiress casting blame on everyone but herself, to Alameda's increasing annoyance, before Jude cuts them off, speaking for the first time the entire trip.

"Why would they do that?"

Gale had swallowed down bile. He knew exactly why they'd move the time up.

"They know," he rasped, images of his brothers and sister, mother, Madge, and the Everdeens, tortured and bleeding all forming behind his eyes. He's killed them all.

"Probably," Wiress grumbled, more irritated than worried, and Gale fights off the urge to lunge at her and throttle the life out of her for her lack of concern. If her competency is in doubt the world collapses, but the potential deaths of their families cause her little discomfort it seemed.

"What about our families?" Jude spoke again, his voice higher than the first time. "Have they hurt our families?"

Alameda shook her head wearily. "No, I'd know."

"How?" Jude snarled, stepping closer to her. "How do you know they're alright? You didn't even know this was going to happen!"

"I just do, okay? I have my ways," she answered, setting her jaw and holding his angry glare. "Keeping tabs on people is a lot easier than monitoring our government, okay?"

Jude took another step towards her, his breathing shaky. "I want to know how."

"That isn't important."

"It is to me."

Before he could take another step, trap her against a crate and do something he'd regret, Gale's dad put a hand on his shoulder.

"Jude," he stepped beside him, staring steadily, "we have to trust her."

Gale had wanted to laugh at that. He didn't trust any of them. They were liars and manipulators, just barely above cockroaches in Gale's mind.

He stopped himself though. His dad was right. As little as he likes them, his life is in their hands, his family's life is in their hands, and there's nothing he can do about that but hope they're half as good as they think they are at playing the system they've been carved from.

For a minute Jude had just stared, eyes locked on Alameda's horrible green hair with its stiff curls, before he lets out a long, frustrated breath.

"Fine."

He'd spent the entire fitting glaring daggers at her, but he hadn't said another word, even when Alameda had jabbed him, supposedly on accident, with her needle when she'd been adjusting his pants.

Biting his tongue, Gale nods, sinking into a pile of fluffy skirts, his pants rising mid-shin.

Alameda's green lips stretch up. "Don't worry, Dorothy. Even with your chiseled good looks and winning personality, you won't get so much as a second glance wearing this."

The uniforms, she'd explained when she pulled them out, are worn by Avoxes.

"And they're as good as furniture to most people in the Capitol."

"What's an 'avox'?" Thom asked, eyeing the dark brown uniform, made of some kind of soft, but strangely strong material, warily

"Traitors," she answered with a shrug as she handed Arran his uniform. "They've got their tongues cut out, so they can't talk." She sticks her own tongue out and pretends to snip it off with a pair of scissors to demonstrate, in case they didn't understand. Turning to Gale, she'd grinned. "Which means you can't talk either once we're off this train. Lucky me."

Gale had simply glared at her for that, unwilling to give her any kind of ammo to fire back at him with.

His dad gives him a sympathetic smile and pats his head, ruffling his hair like he had when Gale was small, before sighing.

"What time are we going to arrive?" He asks, eyes focusing on Alameda.

"By noon," she answers, getting to her feet and brushing a few stray threads from her dress. "I'll come and gather you and head for the hotel."

Thom's stomach rumbles loudly and he gives her a sheepish smile. "Any chance you got some food in your magic bag?"

"I'll feed you when you when we get to the hotel," she tells him, snatching up her bag and looking around. "Remember, mouths shut, heads down, and follow my lead."

With that, she wiggles out, leaving the men in their uncomfortable new uniforms with empty bellies and full heads.

#######

Haymitch curses under his breath, grabbing up a towel and smearing blood across his cheek from where he'd nicked it attempting to shave. He glares at the razor, as though the chunk missing from his hide had somehow been its plan all along.

"You know," a cool voice drifts in, "there are appliances that will do that for you. Probably cost you less blood."

Not bothering to turn and look at her, he resumes shaving.

"I like a good challenge."

Besides, the less control over his life he gives the Capitol the better, even if it is just shaving.

"Suite yourself," Wiress says, turning and walking back into his room.

Glaring at her back, Haymitch makes a final swipe before washing his face off and following after her, letting the water drip from his jaw and onto his undershirt.

"Don't you ever knock?" He asks, eyes still narrowed on her as she goes to his bedside table and picks up his wallet.

"Rarely."

Stomping over to her, he grabs it as she flips it open to a picture of Madge from the year before, smiling at him in her school uniform.

"Don't touch my stuff," he snaps at her, tossing it on the bed and going to his closet to dig out the least offensive piece of clothing he can find.

"You'll be coming with me," she tells him, as though they've been having a pleasant conversation and he hadn't just told her off for prying through his personal property. "To the City Circle where the stage has been set up. We need to look it over."

Grabbing a dark colored shirt, he pulls it on and turns, snapping it up and frowning at her as he does.

"I thought I was going with the boy and them, helping Bird keep things smooth."

Keep the idiot from doing anything stupid and getting himself killed. Not that Haymitch cares, but Madge does, and since it's Haymitch's fault she's in this mess, guilty by association, he owes it to her to keep an eye on the boy.

"Phoebe is more than capable of handling this," she reassures him, picking up his wallet again and pulling out Madge's picture. Haymitch doesn't bother hiding his snort of derision. She hadn't thought much of the girl's skills earlier. Her mind is apparently changed as easy as the winds.

Smirking, Wiress, shrugs. "Besides, her absence won't be noticed. She's our little chameleon, after all. People are used to her appearing when she wants to."

Snatching the picture from her hand, Haymitch falls to the bed and stuffs it back into his wallet.

"I can still help," he tells her, pushing himself up and putting the wallet in his back pocket, far from her calculating eyes.

"No," she gives him a frown of disapproval, "you just want to keep an eye on dear Madge's boyfriend."

"Don't give two shits about him."

Wiress laughs, genuinely amused. "I know you don't, but you really would like to play the hero, and getting him home would certainly help you do that."

He narrows his eyes at her, hating it when she's so near the mark.

"You and I both know we aren't heroes, Haymitch."

Huffing, Haymitch goes to the chair in the corner and finds his belt, puts it on and ignores her.

"We're the bad guys then, great," he snorts.

"It isn't that evenly cut, you know that. Life is very rarely black and white," she counters, her voice still infuriatingly even. "Even if something happens to him, you won't be to blame."

"Sure I will," he mutters.

He should've left Madge and Matilda where they were, they may not have been happy, but they wouldn't have targets in their backs.

The thought falls apart in his head as quickly as it forms.

A life lived in misery isn't much of a life at all. He should know. The few years of happiness they've had might not make up for the mess they're in now, but it's better than nothing.

"No, she's a very bright girl. She'll see the gray it's all painted in."

Smiling slightly, Haymitch nods. His smile slips off just as quickly as it forms and he narrows his eyes.

"How would you know? Been spying on her?"

Watching his every move was one thing, but Madge's and probably Matilda's was another, at least to him.

Shrugging, Wiress walks to the door. "Would you expect anything less from me?"

Before the door slides shut, she calls over her shoulder to him. "Be ready. We arrive at noon."

#######

Hazelle's heart stops when a knock comes on the door the next morning.

Amos Lane, the man Gale had told her about that had recruited him for the corps, stands at the door, his pinched face pulled up into a tight smile.

"I thought today would be as good a day as any to get him started with paperwork," he tells her pleasantly in his too high voice.

For a second Hazelle's heart stops and her mind freezes. Their entire plan is going to unravel, all on an oversight, because of something that had been set in motion months ago that's coming to fruition at the least opportune time.

Rory comes up behind her, a cup of cold broth in his hand.

"Gale's got the flu," he tells the man smoothly. "And my dad, too. If you want to come in and-"

Amos Lane covers his mouth in horror, taking a large step back and almost falling off the porch.

"Oh, no. That's-I'll just start him once he's over this."

The man is gone, fleeing in terror over a fictitious illness before Hazelle can even tell him she'll let Gale know he stopped by.

"You lie too easily, Rory," Hazelle sighs. He shouldn't be so good at something so underhanded.

"Everyone has their skills mom," Rory shrugs. "My particular one just happens to be an amazing poker face."

Remembering a few times Rory had come home from school with a few extra trinkets, a ribbon for Posy and some candy for Vick, Hazelle wonders just how long her middle child has been honing this talent of his.

"Still…"

Deciding this isn't the time for this particular battle, Hazelle just pinches the bridge of her nose. If only Rory and his 'particularly amazing' poker face were her greatest problem at the moment.

"Mom!" Vick shouts from the couch, pointing wildly at the television. "They're making an announcement!"

For the second time in less than an hour, Hazelle's heart stops.

Snow, taut skin and cold eyes, smiles out at them.

Before she can even cross the room, he's made the announcement: the festivities are being moved up. Tonight the newest Victor is going to make his official debut, and, Hazelle knows, the announcement about the Quarter Quell is going to follow.

Sinking down into the threadbare chair, she tries to steady her breathing.

Things are coming to a head, much faster than she'd anticipated, and she isn't sure she's ready for the consequences.

"We need to get up to the Village," Rory tells Vick who nods enthusiastically.

Hazelle looks at them in horror. "Why?"

Exchanging a look, both boys turn back to her.

"To help Madge," Vick answers. "It can't just be down to her, Mellark and Katniss. She's going to need help."

Staring at them, Hazelle feels tears start to prickle at the back of her eyes.

They're too young to be thinking these things. They're just kids. They should be playing games or sneaking out to see girls, at least in Rory's case, not deciding to join what amounts to a treasonous revolt.

Heart suddenly pounding, Hazelle shakes her head. She's their mother, she can't let them do this.

Rory and Vick are her babies, and she won't stand by and let more of her children fight a battle without her.

"I'm going to help," Mrs. Hawthorne corrects him.

Both Rory and Vick cross their arms over their chests and glare in an uncanny impression of Gale.

"We'll be in just as much trouble as the rest of you if things go bad," Rory tells her, his scowl intensifying. "Might as well do something worth being punished for."

Vick nods again, his jaw set.

Much as she'd like to argue with them, she can't. They're right.

When all is said and done, they'll be found just as guilty as Gale and Asher if something happens. She can't deny them a chance to fight back, just this once, against the people that have made them grow up so much faster than they deserve.

Blinking back tears, Hazelle reaches out and grabs them both, pulling them tight to her. She wishes she could keep them there, safe and innocent in her arms, for the rest of their lives, but that isn't an option. They're too much like Gale, they'll find a way to fight, even if she tries her hardest to convince them not to.

Pulling back, she presses a quick kiss to each of their cheeks.

"Let me go get Posy," she tells them as she stands.

They gape at her.

"You're going to let us go?" Vick asks skeptically.

Hazelle nods. "We're a family. We're in this together."

To the end, wherever that may be.

#######

Madge had spent the rest of the day, after walking the Hawthornes home, comforting her mother, dosing her with morphling and assuring her that Mr. Abernathy was going to be okay after she'd had to tell her about his unexpected trip to the Capitol.

She'd calmed easily enough with Madge humming to her and bringing her tea throughout the rainy afternoon, keeping her away from the television showing the Victory Tour, but, not for the first time, Madge wishes her mother weren't quite so fragile.

"She's tough in her own way," Mr. Abernathy had told her, when Madge had met him after school in tears after someone had taunted her over her mother's strange behavior

There was nothing to convince him otherwise, even when Madge pointed out that no one else's mother spent days in bed with headaches or uses a highly controlled drug just to get through some days.

"She's just weak," Madge complained, fighting off tears. She had enough things for people to pick at her for, she didn't need a mad mother on top of everything else. It wasn't fair.

Mr. Abernathy had dropped down on a stump, groaning, before gesturing for her to come closer.

"Listen, sweetheart," he'd began. "Your mom, she's gone through a lot-"

"So have I!" And Madge wasn't a wild-eyed lunatic.

He'd taken her hand and patted it gently. "You have, and you've come through. You're a tough little cookie, no matter what anyone tells you. So is your mom, though."

Before Madge had been able to protest, tell him her mother wasn't strong, if she were she'd be like the women from the Seam, who never dissolve into tears if they burn dinner or can't get the soap scum from the bathroom tile, he brushes some hair from her face and tucks it behind her ear, sighing.

"She-I know has her problems, and I know you wish she didn't, and I know she can be a mess because of the morphling and you're embarrassed by her half the time, but she loves you kid, and she's still here, still alive and fighting because she loves." He gives her a strange little smile. "For some people, just getting through the day is climbing a mountain. Don't be too hard on her, she's climbing one everyday."

Madge had given him a hug after that, kissed his scratchy cheek and told him she'd be a little more understanding. It had taken her a few years for the fact that he was just as much talking about himself as he was her poor mother to sink in.

Life hasn't been exactly pleasant for either one of them, and they're doing the best they can, and Madge can only try to appreciate their efforts.

The day had bled slowly into a dreary, drizzly night before melting back into morning, greeting Madge with the same gray, cold sky.

A knock echoes through the house, startling Madge awake from her spot next to her soundly sleeping mother.

No one ever visits, and her stomach clenches up at the sound.

A million possibilities, each as awful as the next, run through her mind.

Gale's been caught, he and all the other men are going to be executed. Mr. Abernathy's done something foolish, drank too much on the train, it's the only place he still gets anywhere near as drunk as he had before he took in Madge and her mother.

As quickly as she thinks those things she shakes them off. Gale won't fail, it isn't in him, and Mr. Abernathy wouldn't risk her by drinking that much. At least she hopes not.

Combing her mother's hair back and kissing her cheek, Madge gets up and straightens her dress. She's making a catastrophe before she even knows who is at the door and it'll do her no good.

Shaking, Madge darts in Mr. Abernathy's room and snatches up his crowbar, weighing it in her hand. If worse comes to worse, she won't go down without a fight.

Descending the steps two at a time, she makes out the silhouettes of two figures through the foggy glass of the front door.

Quietly, she crosses to the door, crowbar hidden behind her back, and carefully opens it peering out.

Peeta smiles slightly at her, his cap pulled low on his head, blonde hair poking out at strange angles. "Figured we needed to strategize."

Beside him is Katniss, looking just as sullen as she had the night before, when she'd stormed out. She nods. "I saw him trying to sneak up to the breaker house for a look around. I figured that if I don't want my sister and mother executed for treason I should keep him and you from getting us caught. You've got all the stealth of a drunk bear."

It isn't exactly a glowing endorsement, but Madge supposes it's the best she can expect. Katniss hadn't exactly volunteered for this job and she can't be forced to enjoy the part she's being forced to play.

Nodding, Madge waves them in, but not before spotting another group trudging up through the muck and the rain.

Mrs. Hawthorne, carrying a sleepy eyed Posy, trails behind Vick and Rory, both splashing messily through puddles, sending muddy water and damp grass in all directions.

Madge, Katniss, and Peeta watch them for several minutes, until they reach the steps.

"Mrs. Hawthorne, what are you doing here?"

Shifting Posy, Mrs. Hawthorne takes a deep breath and looks at her boys before turning her steady gaze back to Madge.

"They've moved the Capitol introduction up, just announced it," she tells them. "Did you know?"

Since Madge has been attending her mother, the television turned low, any and all announcements that have been made are unknown. Judging by the blank look on Peeta's face, and the much more tense one on Katniss', they'd missed it too.

She could've just sent Rory or Vick up, and the fact that she'd dragged Posy out in the miserable weather, bodes ominously to Madge.

"We need to move as swiftly as possible if we're going to be ready when they make the announcement this evening, you know," Mrs. Hawthorne points out, as though she'd been asked.

Madge stares at her, uncertain what she's just heard, and even once she's processed it, she still isn't sure.

"Mrs. Hawthorne, you don't have-the three of us can do this." At least Madge hopes so.

"We're going to help," Rory says suddenly.

Mrs. Hawthorne gives him a long look, as though she'd like to say something, but then both Vick and Rory cross their arms over their chests and set their jaws in a remarkable impression of Gale, and she sighs, looking to Madge.

"We can't just stand by while Gale and Asher fight this battle. We need to do our part."

Madge can appreciate feeling helpless, useless, but she's probably already doomed Gale and Mr. Hawthorne, she can't bear to drag the rest of the Hawthornes into this mess.

Closing her eyes, Madge sighs.

They're right though. They're already tangled in this plot too tightly to have any hope of escaping punishment if something should happen. Madge knows that better than anyone. Families aren't considered innocent, no matter the situation. Her father's death and the disaster that followed for her and her mother made that abundantly clear to her.

Gale's family is marching into this, preparing for whatever might come, and Madge has no right to stop them. This is their choice, and she can only pray it's the right one.

Opening the door a little wider, she forces a smile.

"Let's get to this then."

#######

Asher shifts in the uncomfortable little seat, wedged between Gale and Jude. Across from him, Phoebe is fiddling with a loose string at the end of her uniform, pulling it off with a muted snap before looking up at him and letting the edges of her mouth flick up before she drops her gaze to the floor of the cart they've been pushed into, her pant legs pooling on her feet.

Looking up, Asher inspects the overhead, damp, smooth stone shining with a strange red light, and then down, at the ground speeding by.

They're out of the train, on their way to the hotel, which seems surreal, but that's where he'd been assured they were heading.

"We'll help offload and be put on one of the transfer carts, taken to the hotel, then to the basement," Phoebe had explained, pointing to one of the many boxes covered in dresses and gaudy clothing, when she'd shown up, only a few minutes after the train had slowed to a stop, dressed a bit like a little girl who'd stolen clothing from someone much larger than her, green hair hidden under a tightly wrapped headband.

"The basement?" Gale had frowned.

"What about lunch?" Thom asked, before snapping his mouth shut at the irritable look Gale shot him.

"Don't worry about that, you'll get something," she answers, not missing a beat. "You just get your box and follow me to the incinerator, and if anything happens, you are not to interfere, understand?"

Asher hadn't liked the way she'd nonchalantly said it, something about her tone and the rapid fire way she'd spit it out told him that he was definitely going to want to interfere should anything go wrong.

"Why the incinerator?" He'd asked, feeling that no matter what answer she gave him, he wasn't going to like it.

She'd waved a hand. "Don't worry. Just stick to the wall and stay quiet. Remember, you don't have tongues."

Catching her by the sleeve, Gale had narrowed his eyes. "No, no more just do what you say. What's going to happen? We need to be prepared."

For a minute they'd just stood there, glaring at each other, dislike etched into every inch of both their faces, before she finally huffed.

"Fine," she muttered, pushing the sleeves of her uniform up until they bunched at the elbows. "These boxes are marked for destruction. That means down to the incinerator, which is in the basement. We need to get to these boxes to the basement."

Before any of them could ask the obvious question, what's in the boxes that needs to go so desperately to the basement, she'd picked one up and opened the lid.

Inside, are several stacks of ugly plates, white with gold trim, but when she lifts one of them, shifting it slightly, Asher is horrified to see several very familiar little containers. Explosives.

"We've been sleeping on explosives," Gale snapped.

"What you don't know can't hurt you."

"Unless it explodes on you!" Gale half shouted. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

She shrugged. "A great many things, I'm sure, but this is hardly the worst thing I've done, and that's just to you."

Holding up a hand to silence their arguing, they needed to stay focused, Asher sighed. "We're taking the explosives to the incinerator?"

Shaking her head, she'd snapped the lid shut. "We're taking the boxes with us to the basement, the entrance to the tunnel that leads under Snow's Mansion is down there."

Thom, eyes still fixed on one of the boxes holding the explosives, frowns. "And no one's noticed it."

Phoebe had smiled offhandedly. "Nope, you'll see."

Things had sped by after that.

She'd forced boxes into their hands, telling them just to take them to the luggage car, and when the doors had slid open and people, avoxes, had started crawling up and in, they'd mixed with them seamlessly.

The avoxes either don't care or are part of the plan, Asher isn't sure which, because they'd nudged the men in the right direction, give them gentle guidance and tense smiles as they'd pushed them onto the cart. Even as they ride in the subterranean labyrinth of the Capitol, they don't make any indication that they're going to give them trouble.

It's cool, and even at the rapid speeds, Asher can see their breath evaporating in little puffs, blowing away the second it escapes their mouths and noses. Their thin uniforms provide little protection against the stinging air, and out of habit, he tries to stuff his hands in his pockets, only to find them missing.

Glancing over at Gale, he finds his son as grim faced as ever.

Reaching out, he gives his knee a pat.

Gale gives him a tense look, almost ill, and Asher is instantly reminded of when he'd been a little boy, sick with pneumonia.

"Big cough, Gale," Asher had reminded him, giving him and encouraging pat on the back. "Get it out."

"It hurts," Gale had whimpered, tears welling in his eyes as he dissolved into another fit of coughs. "I'm tired, daddy."

Asher had picked him up and cradled him close, rocking him to sleep in the ancient rocker that still sets in their house.

"It's gonna get worse before it gets better," he'd told him. "You just have to keep fighting."

He wishes he could tell his son that now. The proximity to Capitol, the source of their misery, should be making him less confident, but he feels the opposite happening. As the minutes tick by, the chance they'll be caught increases, he grows calmer. Everything seems more possible. They're about to see the worst of it, and that can only mean better things are on the horizon.

It may be a delusion, probably is, but he feels things falling in place. They might just survive this, and with that, save everyone they love.

With a jerk, the cart stops.

The strange red lights that sit along the tracks are washed out by a floodlight, drenching the cart in blinding light, and before Asher's eyes can adjust to it, he's being pulled roughly out and pushed toward the cart where their boxes are being stored.

"Get the luggage and head inside," a man, dressed in a deep blue uniform and a box-like hat, directs them, pointing toward a set of double doors and a pair of Peacekeepers.

Following Gale, Asher walks to the cart and picks up the box he'd deposited earlier. It's heavy, the explosives and the plates making it twice as bulky as it should be.

"Can we put something other than plates in them?" Thom had asked after first picking his up.

"No," is all she'd answered with.

Asher got the feeling she only picked them to be annoying, but kept his thoughts to himself. If they complained too much she'd probably have add something heavier.

Phoebe at the lead, they get in line in.

Asher watches the Peacekeepers wave what looks to be electric squares over a strange set of markings on the boxes, and a little red light flashes, lighting up the screens on the squares. It must give them information, telling them where to send the box, because each avox is sent one of two ways, left up a set of narrow stairs, or right down a wide hall.

First up is Phoebe, with her eyes downcast as she's sent to the right. Then Gale follows, he's kept close to her the entire time, distrustfully eyeing her the entire time.

On Gale's heels, Asher steps up.

The Peacekeeper, who looks to be about Gale's age, with cold eyes and a thin mouth, holds his square over the symbol and reads the screen before sending Asher towards the entry Gale and Phoebe had vanished down.

When he steps through the entryway the air temperature drops further, no longer a brisk cool, but a dry kind of freezing. He's heard of a meat locker before, and he can only imagine this is what the phrase means.

Wishing he could've kept his coat, he feels the hair on his neck and arms stand on end and he shivers.

Squinting, there are only small, dull lights on the wall, Asher spots Gale ahead and quickens his steps to catch up.

They walk silently, hearing the heavy footfalls of Thom and Arran coming behind them, before Phoebe cuts them a look.

Glancing around, she shifts her box a little and when they come to a small hall to the right, almost invisible in the poor lighting, she abruptly turns.

They've only gone a few yards when someone shouts at them.

"Hey!"

The Peacekeeper, the young one that had checked Asher's box, is coming towards them, a baton out. Phoebe curses softly behind them.

"Where are you going?"

He's on them, his cold eyes flashing in the poor light, first up to Arran, then to Gale, finally settling on Phoebe.

"This is a divert hall, you idiots. A dead end. Dumbasses. Did you think you could hide down it?"

A cruel smile forms on his lips and he takes a step towards her, jabbing her in the shoulder with his baton. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

He laughs at his own joke before slapping the box from her hands.

It falls, loudly, and the plates, and mercifully only the plates, fall out, shattering and scattering on the floor.

"You dropped it." He leans down, in her face. "Pick it up."

Asher bites his tongue. He only picked her because she's the smallest, seemingly the least threatening. The coward is nothing more than a bully, creating a situation he can flex his muscles in. It's no wonder he became a Peacekeeper.

Looking entirely contrite, Phoebe nods and drops down, sweeping shards of plate up and keeping her eyes down. Even if it is probably only an act, Asher feels sick. In her too big clothes and her fresh scrubbed face, she reminds him a little too much of Posy again. It turns his stomach.

As he's about to push that connection away again, it's unsafe and painful at the moment, the Peacekeeper suddenly kicks the broken plates, sending bits of glass through the air and causing Phoebe to yank her hands back and look up, her expression one of innocent confusion.

"Faster," he snaps.

When one of his feet pull back, aiming a kick at her, Asher can't stop himself.

Without thinking, he drops his box and lunges at the Peacekeeper, slamming him into the wall.

It isn't Posy he's protecting, but that doesn't matter. He isn't about to stand back and watch someone get a sucker punch, or a sucker kick, in on anyone.

He lands a punch and the Peacekeeper's nose cracks, spraying crimson onto his white uniform and the shoulder of Asher's brown one, coloring it black in the dull light.

Growling, the Peacekeeper slams his forehead into Asher's eye, causing sparkling stars to burst behind his eyelids and temporarily blinding him, just long enough for the man to push him back.

Tripping, Asher goes to the ground and Gale steps between him and the Peacekeeper, now spitting blood and snarling.

"Get out of my way," he spits.

"No."

The sliver of his face Asher can see around Gale slacks for a second before his eyes narrow, the reality of the situation finally hitting him. "You aren't an avox."

He starts to reach for his radio, strapped to his waist, and all four men lurch to stop him from sounding the alarm. Before they can though, something cracks loudly, shattering, and before anyone has time to look for the source, Phoebe has come up behind the Peacekeeper and jumped on his back.

Asher barely has time to register what's happened when red sprays out, splattering on their uniforms and the floor.

The Peacekeeper drops, clutching his throat and making a sickening gurgling noise as blood continues to spurt out.

After a second, Phoebe, with a thick, jagged shard of plate in her hand, pushes him, face down, with her foot.

Wiping her bloody hands on her uniform, she looks down at Asher.

"I appreciate the chivalry, but I warned you not to interfere," she tells him, looking entirely unfazed by the situation.

She glances at the shard in her hand for a moment before waving it at Thom, grinning, then tossing it away.

Plates suddenly seem like a brilliant option to Asher, and he decides not to question her too much after that.

#######

They run, boxes bouncing heavily in their hands, following behind Alameda as she leads them down the twisting hall.

The Peacekeeper is dead, still in a heap in the middle of the hall, blood pooling around him.

"Don't worry about him," Alameda had told them before using his radio to send a message to the dispatch. Apparently she'd told them, through some kind of code, that he was visiting a friend.

"A friend?" Jude had frowned. "What's that code for?"

"A whore," she answered, stuffing his radio in her box and motioning for them to follow her.

The men exchanged a look, all a little dark in the face at the way she'd tossed that kind of language around, but no one said a word, just picked up their boxes of broken plates and explosives and followed her.

After ten minutes, going so deep into the labyrinth that Gale wonders if they'll ever get out, Alameda stops, staring at an expanse of dark, empty wall.

Her nose wrinkles up, and just as Gale is about to grumble about her being lost, she reaches out and runs her hand along the wall.

"Damn it. I always have trouble with-"

Before she can finish, she falls through the wall, yelping as her box crashes, unseen to all.

"It ate her," Thom whispers in awe.

"Don't be dense," Alameda snaps, her voice muffled. Suddenly, her head pops back through the seemingly solid wall. "It's a hologram. Hides the enormous hole we've made, in the unlikely event anyone should come down here."

She waves her hand, ushering them in.

"We didn't come all this way for y'all idiots to stand around staring at fake brick."

Gale glares at her, thinking of a hundred different insults he could throw her way, but settles on silence. She isn't worth his breath.

Gritting his teeth, he steps into the wall, right where her head had been.

The toe of his shoe makes it through, but his face doesn't.

"Damn!" His hands jump to his face, cupping his nose and expecting blood to come from it.

His dad pulls his hands down, and gives him a grim smile. "Looks alright."

Twittering laughter erupts from the wall and Alameda's obnoxious face pops back out.

"Did I forget to mention the low ceiling? Whoops."

I'll bet.

Gale makes a low, threatening noise and she grins wider before vanishing back into the wall.

"Just duck."

Thirty minutes later, back aching and eyes straining, sweating heavily, they emerge from the tunnel, and into another.

Gale's feet touch down on concrete, a soft tapping noise echoing through the air. He drops his box and looks around.

"What is this place?" Thom asks as he emerges, squinting into the dark.

Alameda flips on a small lantern, bathing the area around them in blue light.

It's entirely concrete, walls, ceiling, and floor. Any traces of warmth are sucked away by the empty space around them, absorbed into the walls.

"Well, as best we can tell, it's part of an old military base, from before Panem." She turns on the spot. "The first president of Panem apparently built the mansion over it without knowing what he'd done. Some of the rebels, the ones that made it out and managed to blend into the Capitol, remembered it though, and they excavated it. Guess they figured it might come in useful someday."

Eyes roaming over the flat gray of the walls and ceilings, the spiderweb cracks patterning both, Gale mumbles, "Guess they were right."

This is where they'll start their revolution, take down the mansion and then Snow.

This is the place where the Games will ends. Where he's going to save Madge and his brothers and sister.

Squatting down, Gale pushes some of the broken plates out of the way and pulls a carefully contained explosive from the bottom, smiling.

"Let's get started."


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.

It didn't take as long as Gale thought it would to set up the explosives.

The five of them split up, Gale and Thom crawling in the narrower passages that splinter off from the main tunnel while the older men take the areas that require less exertion.

After an hour of getting progressively sweatier and inhaling stale, dust filled air, they finally ran out of packages.

"That's it," Jude told Alameda, kicking his empty box. "Now what?"

She'd simply smiled and tilted her head. "We clean up."

They'd traveled, back up the crevice, down the blind hall, past the now spotless place they'd left the Peacekeeper, to the main tunnel and man with a cart.

He was probably only older than Gale, shorter though, with short cropped pale hair and a pinched, sad look about him, he smiled weakly at Alameda.

"Thank you, Theo," she almost whispered, giving him a tight smile of her own.

Silently, because, Gale reminded himself, he had no choice but to be, Theo opened what looked to be an elaborate, enormous wheeled cart.

"What is this?" Thom had asked, eyeing it unenthusiastically. Gale didn't blame him, it looked a bit like an upright coffin.

"A closed luggage cart." She made a face. "For some of the less 'socially acceptable' articles our friends from the Capitol bring with them on vacation."

Gale didn't like the idea of sharing close space with anything Capitol, let alone less than 'socially acceptable' things. It made his skin crawl.

Still, it was the only way to get upstairs, to wherever Alameda wanted to shuffle them next, so he'd folded himself in, next to his dad.

"It smells like feet in here," Thom muttered.

"Trust me, there are worse things for it to smell like," Alameda told him, her white teeth flashing before the door swung shut, plunging them into darkness.

They'd been deposited in a cavern of a room filled with clothes. He'd only known it was, in fact, a closet because Alameda fell out of the container and stumbled to a set of white doors, garishly decorated with gold and a pair of long mirrors, and thrown them open.

"The showers are off the main room."

Gale nearly tripped over Thom's chicken legs.

It was blinding, filled with gold and mirrors, just like the doors, gaudy and overwhelming. Sickeningly grandiose.

Steadying himself, Gale wandered out after her, blinking to clear his vision.

The room was bigger than his house. Bigger than his house combined with Thom's and Jude's.

Gold trim glittered on everything, along the woodwork and on the mirrors, which appeared to be on every surface, even, to Gale and Thom's utter confusion, on the ceiling. He had quickly decided he didn't want to get an explanation for that bit of decorating.

The carpet was thick, long and soft, unlike anything he'd ever seen, and he hadn't been able to stop himself from crouching down and running a hand over it.

"You'll have to take turns," Alameda had interrupted his inspection. "Only two showers."

"Only?" Gale's dad had repeated in awe. They barely had one shower, two was unheard of, especially in a single room, even if the room was bigger than any room Gale had ever been in. Haymitch was the only person Gale had ever personally known with such a luxury as more than one bathroom in his home.

She muttered something about having tried to get a 'quad bath' before shrugging and vanishing back into the closet, telling them she'd see them later.

Arran had let out a long whistle and grinned. "First dibs on that shower."

He'd vaulted over the bed, which was probably bigger than every bed in Gale's family's house, and tripped as he'd made his way into the first door.

"I got the other!" Thom yelled, lunging at the other door and kicking it shut.

A couple of hours later, after listening to Arran and Thom make fools of themselves with the showers and the endless number of buttons and knobs, then making the same foolish mistakes themselves, all the men are more or less clean.

"I smell like a peach," Thom comments, for what feels like the tenth time. He lifts his arm, wrapped in a fluffy white robe, out to Gale. "See? Peaches."

"I smelled you twice already," Gale complains, rubbing his own nose and inhaling the scent of strawberries that cling to his skin.

The door to the closet flies open again, and Alameda steps through, looking like herself, green hair and makeup back in place. Her nose wrinkles up.

Thom falls behind the bed and Arran makes a strangled noise.

"Don't you know how to knock?" He squeaks, his color deepening.

One of Alameda's eyebrows arches up.

"Honey, I've seen everything. It would take something truly spectacular to shock me." She frowns."That aside, why are y'all still in robes?"

"What else are we supposed to wear?" Gale asks, keeping his robe pulled tight. He doesn't care if she's seen it all, she isn't seeing what he's got.

She points at the closet. "Well, any number of things." Her eyes flick to Gale's dad. "It's all complimentary."

Gale starts to snap that if she'd have bothered to tell them that then they'd be dressed already, but his dad starts talking, derailing his thought.

"Complimentary?" He glances behind her, at the obscene amount of clothes hanging along the walls. "How?"

Holding out her dress in a curtsey, Alameda smiles. "Victor privilege. This is Haymitch's room."

While Gale is busy feeling queasy at having used a shower that a naked Haymitch had most likely been in, Jude stares at the closet and then at Alameda.

"Your room adjoins?"

Her eyes roll. "There are passages to everywhere. You just have to know where to look. So...I guess every room is adjoining..."

For a minute she puzzles over that apparent revelation before shaking her head, sending green curls bouncing.

"Look, unless you want to wait this thing out in your skivvies, then I'd get in there and find something suitable."

Turning back, she vanishes into the closet, just as the main door opens.

Haymitch steps in, looks around, then arches his eyebrows. "Do I even want to know what's going on here?"

Gale just drops to the bed and hides his face.

#######

Asher leaves the others to explain the situation to Haymitch, venturing further into the closet.

He goes to the far back, begins thumbing through the strange materials and awkward cuts when a simple white shirt is shoved in his face.

"I like this one," Phoebe tells him over his shoulder.

Turning, he eyes the shirt cautiously. She gives it a little shake.

"It doesn't bite, or burn, or melt you, I promise."

Still uncertain, Asher takes it from her, rubbing the sleeve between his fingers. The material slips through like water. He looks up and gives her a faint smile.

Her green lips stretch up and she turns, crosses over several discarded piles of uncomfortable looking shoes, and steps up, into one of the endless racks of clothing along the wall.

"See you later," she tells him, grabbing onto the overhead bar of solid gold and hoisting herself up onto the shelf and over yet more shoes, into what looks to be coats, but must be the entry to her passage between the rooms.

Before he can think better of it, or maybe because he's thought about it too much, Asher stops her.

"Thanks," he says, eye jumping from the shirt and to her. He shrugs. "For everything."

She turns, her shoulders jerking as she looks at him. "Don't thank me yet. Plus, it isn't like I won't benefit from this mess."

Asher nods. "Still, you're a kid. You're too young to have to be mixed up in this crap."

Just like Gale and Madge. Like all the kids that've been Reaped.

Phoebe snorts softly. "I haven't been a kid in a very, very long time, and no one is too young to suffer. Trust me. I should know."

Much as he wishes it weren't true, Asher knows it is. Pain and loss are lessons taught early in the districts.

Swallowing down a lump, he nods.

She stays there, perched on the edge of the shelf, her stiff curls framing her face, making her look like an overgrown toy again. It makes Asher think of Posy and her ragdoll.

It doesn't have a face and she's dropped it, on more than one occasion, in mud puddles after the rain, and it's got an eternally gray look to it from the coal dust. Still, it's well loved, despite it's worn exterior.

The girl in front of him is like the glass dolls at the general store. Pretty and well kept, but unattainable. Never to be taken out of the window and really loved, only posed for pictures and redressed occasionally. She's a doll in only the most superficial ways, but, he supposes, after years of watching Victors, that may be the best type of plaything in the Capitol. They're rougher on their toys than Posy could ever hope to be, and there's no Hazelle in the Capitol to sew the Victors back together, scrub them clean and hand them back to someone who truly loves them.

Being a doll trapped in a store window seems like a preferable life when the alternative is to be completely torn apart without the benefit of being cared for first.

"Pick something comfortable," she tells him quietly. "You're going to stay here until the...until everything is over, so at least you can be comfortable."

Asher nods, gives her a faint smile. "Should I go with green?"

Her lips twitch up. "Only if someone died."

The smile slips off Asher's face.

"That what it means?"

She nods. "In Ten it does." She waves a hand at her dress. "I used to be more particular. Only wore olive, for my mother, but that got old pretty fast. Plus it's damn hard to find. Pretty unpopular color these days. Electrics are what's in."

Asher drops onto the shelf across from her, squinting and frowning.

"Olive? Her favorite color?" He asks, an odd stone settling in his stomach, warning him to let it go.

She makes a small noise. "No." Her nose wrinkles up. "Her name."

His heart stops as he stares at her. Her eyes aren't Seam gray, but her skin, if she had a few good days out in the sun, might be olive under the strange sickly pallor. Her face is too round though, she's too short, too completely other to be what his mind suddenly thinks she might be.

"Phoebe," he says her name, rolling it over in his head, the connection forming thinly. "Like from that book, about the house?"

Her expression brightens, genuine, making her look years younger, too much like Posy.

"The House of Seven Gables," she supplies. "You've read it?"

Still studying her, Asher nods, even though the closest he ever came to any classic literature was when he'd gotten detention duty in the library. "By Nathaniel Hawthorne."

A little laugh bubbles out of her. "A fan of your potential ancestor. I see." She shrugs. "My mom liked him, I guess. Can't really be sure, she died when I was little. She had me, my big brother Matthew, and my little brother Clifford." Her nose wrinkles up again. "My sister got saddled with Hester. Poor choice if you want your kid to have a happy life."

Asher doesn't understand really see how a name could decide anything about a person's fate, but he nods anyway.

A thick silence fills the air as Asher tries to reason out why his thoughts are wrong. Olive isn't such a strange name and naming children after beloved authors might be a tradition in Ten. It doesn't mean a thing.

Finally, he stands, straightens out and gives her a forced smile. "Guess I'll finish picking out my pants."

She gives him a concerned once over, as though she's sensed the shift in his mood and his confusion, before forcing her own smile and ducking into the clothes and vanishing, leaving Asher to his jumbled thoughts and unconfirmed connections.

#######

Haymitch stares out the window, over the city that's starting to glow in the setting sun.

This may be, probably will be, his last sunset, and he wants to etch the colors in his mind.

Wiress had all but dragged him and Chaff out to where the platform was already being set up, pointing to where she wanted them to stand.

"Beetee and I'll be on each side of Snow," she explained. "We'll both have weapons on us to put an end to him, quickly and efficiently."

"You won the coin toss then?" Haymitch muttered

"Figured Johanna would fight you for that spot," Chaff chuckled. "Guess I shouldn't'a underestimated you."

Wiress gave him an almost smile, her eyes flashing dangerously before turning back to the stage.

"We'd considered Mason, but she's too unpredictable. We want the bastard dead, not toyed with."

"He doesn't' deserve a quick death," Haymitch huffed. "Let her play with his insides. It's the least he deserves."

The absolute very least.

Jaw tightening, Wiress let out a snort of air, her nostrils flaring.

"I'm not concerned with what he deserves, Haymitch. I'm concerned with what's smart, what's necessary. And what's smart is to kill Snow, keep him from pulling anymore strings even while under our lock and key." She narrowed her eyes on the stage before cutting both men a look. "What's smart is to kill him on live television, with everyone watching. Not make ourselves look like miniatures of what we're replacing by torturing a man on national television."

As much as he hated to admit it, Haymitch knew she was right. She usually was, not that he'd tell her that.

Haymitch might've wanted revenge for the misery of his life, for the attempts on Madge and Matilda, but that wasn't what was best.

Wiress, with her detached gaze and her cold approach, knew better than to meet fire with fire, and not for the first time, he's grateful for the ice in her veins. If he were in charge, if anyone but her were in charge, things would get ugly fast. She might not have a sterling track record, especially with Haymitch, and after all these years he's certain she doesn't care who she hurts to reach her ends, but she isn't sloppy.

The endgame isn't the only thing in her sights. She sees past that, to the rebuilding and restructuring.

Being manipulative is as much a part of her as breathing, and as much as that scares him, it comforts him. Her ruthlessness is her constant, and if it saves Madge and Matilda, Haymitch won't say another word against it.

"I need to tell you both something," she began suddenly, her eyes still focused on the stage. "We probably won't be walking away from this."

Chaff choked on his 'squeeze-to-heat' burrito he'd bought when they'd exited the train.

"What?"

Wiress gave him a lazy look. "Beetee and I've run through it multiple times, and we've come to the same conclusion each time. The Peacekeepers will probably open fire on us once we take down Snow. Which is another reason we want him dead quickly. We don't want all our efforts to be for nothing when they kill us."

She might as well have been reading a dictionary for all the excitement behind her words. Even the prospect of likely death wasn't enough to upset her.

"Wiress," Chaff had tossed his burrito into one of the golden trash cans that lined the walkway. "You-If we're dead, who is going to keep things moving?"

"There are plenty of people that can fill that void," she answered firmly. "Phoebe and Beetee have made sure all of Snow's deputies, every Gamemaker and top level Peacekeeper, is at the announcement. We're cleaning house."

"So you're planning on killing all of us off and hoping better minds take over?" Haymitch asked, fighting the urge to turn and run.

She'd lied, or at the very least omitted a very important bit of information. It's not the first time, so he shouldn't be surprised, but he'd hoped with everything happening, she'd have trusted them with something as big as their own likely deaths.

Wiress' expression didn't falter. "I know better minds will take over."

"How?" Because Haymitch wasn't about to leave Madge and Matilda's lives to the whimsical winds of chance. He'd come too far, gambled too much, to put them at risk like that.

"Trust-"

"I will not," Haymitch snapped. "I'm not about to ride into the sunset with you unless you convince me my girls are going to be safe."

Chaff stepped back, wide brown eyes cutting back and forth between Haymitch and Wiress, waiting for one or both of them to snap.

The little crow's feet at the edges of Wiress' eyes bunched up as she squinted at Haymitch and he'd crossed his arms, daring her to lie to him. He's known her too long, every tell she has, however small, he knows. She wasn't about to pull the wool over his eyes.

"I've got contacts in each of the Districts, poised to take over after that fall of the Capitol," she finally told him.

Haymitch waved a hand. There was more to tell and he wanted to hear.

Biting her tongue, Wiress' face pinched up before she sighed, irritably.

"I've got magistrates, mayors-"

"And what guarantee do you have that they'll be able to take control of this mess you're planning on making?"

She scowled. "There's always a degree of uncertainty with any plan."

"If I'm gonna be led like a lamb to slaughter then I want absolute certainty, sweetheart." He wasn't about to risk the two most important people in his life for anything less.

"I can't give you that," she snapped. "You know I can't. What I can give you is the promise, the guarantee that I can make, is that your little strumpet and girl will be safe."

"Don't you dare talk about them like that," Haymitch snarled.

"I'll speak as I see fit, as I see it," she tells him coldly. She sniffed, looking around as though nothing was the matter. "Now, the contingency plan for the Capitol should anything of this happen, such as what we're planning, is that the weakest, the least necessary District, is to be weeded out as a warning."

Haymitch swallowed down bile. No matter what happened, from the very beginning, Twelve was doomed.

"And you didn't tell us?" He growled, his dislike of her intensifying.

"We helped with the plans to evacuate the District, didn't we?"

"And let us think it was all a backup plan," Haymitch barely kept from shouting.

Wiress rolled her eyes, shaking her head tiredly. "We couldn't have you all knowing what was coming up, could we? It would've created panic, and panic gets people killed."

Not being prepared gets people killed, but Haymitch was too furious to point that out.

"Phoebe has some of her friends, people who could sneak out unnoticed, poised near Twelve. When the time is right, they'll make sure that your darling Madge acts, and they'll help get as many out as they can."

'As many as they can' isn't all, and that turned Haymitch's stomach.

Still, as long as Madge and Matilda were safe, he could be like Wiress, he could handle acceptable losses.

"Do you feel any less squeamish now?"

He didn't. He'd suffered enough in this life, and he'd come into the Capitol expecting Wiress to have a fix for everything, just like she so often did. Getting a good chunk of his home district killed didn't set well with him. Getting himself killed sat even more poorly.

He wanted a life free from Games and Mentoring. A quiet life where he didn't have to worry about the consequences of his actions on his girls. Maybe he didn't deserve it, but damn if he didn't want it.

"I'd rather not die, if at all possible," he mutters finally.

Chaff nodded. "I'd like to not die either."

Wiress huffed. "Don't be such children. Sacrifices must be made. We're part of the old regime, part of the problem. The fewer of us that survive this the better off whatever nation springs up after will be."

She was right, Haymitch knew that.

The Victors were visible faces, known and in most cases, trusted. Close to the Capitol and from the Districts. They'd be some of the first asked to step up when Wiress' plan blew up, literally.

The best way to keep them from that temptation to 'help', put their hard won and piss poor knowledge to use, was to remove them. Entirely.

Sighing, Haymitch runs a hand over his face. He doesn't want to think about Wiress with what may be his last hours.

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his wallet and flips it open.

Madge, dressed in her awful school uniform, smiles back at him.

She looks just like Matilda, which is more a blessing than she'll ever know.

Closing his eyes, he remembers walking her to school the first time, after Daniel died, how small and fragile she'd looked. She'd lost too much weight, stress had worn it off her despite his efforts, and her clothes hung too loosely, making her look even tinier than she already was. Her hair had finally evened out where one of the brats at the home had cut it, but she'd still worn it back, hiding nonexistent ragged edges.

"I'll be here to pick you up after school," he told her, smoothing out her hair and giving her a faint smile.

Her pale lips had turned down. "You don't have to."

"I know," he chuckled, hoping to get a smile out of her. "I like to."

He'd shown up, for the first few months, before his own bad habits and poor self-control had gotten the better of him, walked her home and made her a snack every afternoon.

He won't be there anymore though. Not for snacks, not to walk with her, not for anything.

Flipping the picture, he settles his eyes on Matilda.

It's ancient, from her last year of school. She's in the same uniform Madge is wearing in hers, big smile plastered on her soft features and her hair in waves on her shoulders. There are only a few difference between the girl in the picture and the woman waiting back in Twelve.

"Do you have to carry that?" She'd asked, her lips in a pout when he'd found it, after they'd gotten a box of her and Madge's personal effects back from the Peacekeepers.

"Unless you want to give me a better one?" He'd laughed, holding it above her head.

Matilda had wrapped her arms around his middle and propped her chin against his chest, blinking owlishly up at him. "Please get rid of it?"

He'd lied, told her he'd tossed it ages ago, but he couldn't bring himself to be without it.

For all the suffering he had to do, he needed his girls close by, even if only in pictures.

He hears footsteps, muffled on the carpet, behind him, and he snaps his wallet closed as he turns.

Hawthorne is standing at the door, his features darkened by the light from the main room, but Haymitch can feel him frowning at him.

"What's wrong?"

How he can sense the unease, Haymitch isn't sure. He wouldn't have pegged him as a particularly astute man, but maybe he'd been wrong, like with so many other things.

"Nothing," Haymitch mutters, stuffing his wallet in his pocket, putting his last look at his girls away.

Hawthorne looks unconvinced, stepping in and walking across the darkened room, stopping next to Haymitch and frowning over at him.

"Something's wrong."

Arching his eyebrows up, Haymitch gives him an agitated look. "How would you know?"

He apparently doesn't have an answer for that, so he just crosses his arms over his chest and stares out the window.

Cutting his eyes over, Haymitch frowns at the steady, serious look on Hawthorne's face.

He's a little asshole, that much is certain, but he's a little asshole that loves Madge.

He'd agreed to take Haymitch's help, been willing to marry her, and now he's here, with his dad and his friends, fighting, ready to die, for her.

Taking a deep breath, Haymitch rubs his hands over his eyes.

"Promise me you'll protect her," he finally says.

Hawthorne frowns, his thick eyebrows pulling together. "What?"

"Madge," Haymitch clarifies, keeping his eyes on the city outside the window. "She-Her and Matilda are my life. Whatever happens here, you promise me you'll get back and take care of them."

For a second, Hawthorne just stares, uncertain what he's heard, then he scowls. "What's going-"

"Just promise me!" Haymitch hisses. He doesn't have time to explain things, and besides, he thinks it'll be better if Madge never knows he was aware of what he was walking into when the end comes. Wiress will be calling soon, she'd only given him and Chaff a few minutes to get ready before leaving for the dinner that is to precede the announcement. She's going to take him down, to their doom, and he just wants reassurance, even if it's false, that Madge and Matilda will be taken care of.

A few minutes pass, tick by with Hawthorne just staring stupidly, when Haymitch finally hears his name.

"Time to get going, Haymitch," Wiress tells him from the door, her voice as even and clipped as ever.

Giving Hawthorne a small look, annoyance flaring at him for not answering, Haymitch turns and starts across the room, stopping only when he hears his name again.

"I promise," Hawthorne says firmly. "I promise."

A strange weight settles in Haymitch's stomach, rolling uncomfortably even though he's just been given what he asked for.

He isn't going home. He won't see Matilda or Madge again. He's going to die.

Hawthorne will protect them though, they're going to have safe, happy lives. He just won't get to see them.

Swallowing down bile, Haymitch nods.

"Thanks," he mutters, his voice almost failing.

He leaves, out the door and past the other men, now dressed and exploring the room more thoroughly, trailing behind Wiress, leaving Hawthorne to his promise and his girls to their fate.

#######

After a couple of hours, and several mugs of sickly sweet apple cider that Madge had found hidden away in the back corner of the cabinets, Madge, Peeta, Katniss, and Gale's family were ready for whatever was to come.

Madge and Katniss were going to be in charge of the actual destruction of the breaker house while the others warned both the Town and the Seam.

"I thought I was going to help destroy the house?" Peeta asks, looking a little put out.

"We need you to help warn the Town," Madge points out. "Vick and Rory will be trusted in the Seam, but we can't rely on them for Town. People will ignore them."

Though he still seems disappointed at being left out of the main event, he understands.

"Maybe you can break into the foreman's office," Madge tells them as they try to determine the best way to alert the District. "Turn on the siren. That'll get everyone out, make it easier to get the warning out."

"Good idea," Peeta nods.

"Breaking and entering?" Rory grins. "This night just gets better and better."

His mother gives him a wary look, then sighs, too exhausted to chastise him.

"Katniss will come back to Town and help Peeta," Madge tells them. "I'll head back here and get my mother."

"Or she can come with us," Vick says, chewing his lips and knitting his eyebrows together. "The Village is a long walk, Madge. What if you can't get back up here and to the fence before bad things start happening?"

It's a distinct, almost likely possibility, but Madge doesn't see a way around it. Her mother won't make it through the panic that's going to follow the electricity going out, and Madge can't hold her hand. This is the best solution she can come up with.

"There isn't a choice, Vick."

"There is," Peeta says suddenly, his jaw set. He sets Madge in a firm look. "Your mom can come with me. I'll keep her close and then you won't have to run back up here."

Madge rubs her eyes. "No, Peeta. She's asleep, and-and besides, people won't take you seriously if you have her with you."

The doors will get slammed in his face so fast he won't even get a chance to say 'hi'.

He looks like he might argue, but then swallows and nods.

Deciding it's best not to dwell on her mother and what to do with her, Madge turns back to the rest of the group and gives them a tense smile.

This is probably the last time she'll see all of them. Vick is right, even if she's able to get back to the Village to get her mother, the likelihood that she'll be able to drag her back to the fence in time, without being caught by the Peacekeepers that'll likely be swarming, is almost nonexistent.

They'll probably die, it's an almost certainty, and all she can hope for is that their sacrifice saves more lives than it costs.

She hopes Mr. Abernathy understands. Just like her father, she needs to be willing to make sacrifices to save others, like Gale's family and all her friends.

As much as she'd like her happy ending, safe from the Games and all the terror the Capitol rains down on them, it doesn't seem to be in her future.

All she can hope for is that her life isn't given up for nothing, that Gale and the others succeed and that he and his family live long, happy lives, even if she can't be a part of them.

"Everyone clear?" She asks one last time.

They all nod silently.

Madge takes a deep breath and glances at the television.

It's showing the festivities, the build up to the evening's announcement. Pomp and circumstance at its best, the calm before the storm.

Forcing a smile, Madge turns her back on the display.

"Alright then, let's get going."


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: A few implied things of a sexual nature in this chapter, just be warned.

Gale feels his stomach roll.

Something isn't right. Haymitch is never quiet, somber and almost sad.

Staring at the door Haymitch had vanished through a few minutes before, Gale takes a deep breath before following after.

Thom is on the bed, snoring loudly, and Arran is testing out a magic window, one that changes scenery at the touch of a button. Jude just stares aimlessly at the wall across from his seat, still silently letting Gale and his dad know he hasn't forgiven them for this mess, even if he's being cooperative at the moment.

"What's wrong?" Gale's dad asks as he emerges from the bathroom, smelling like lilacs.

Gale glances around, Haymitch is gone, and rubs his temple. "Not sure yet."

He starts for the door, but his dad stops him.

"Where you going?

"After Haymitch. He's acting funny." Funnier than usual that is.

His dad shakes his head. "Can't. Gone already. Wiress practically drug him out."

Feeling a bit doomed, something unseen is lurking just ahead, Gale goes toward the door anyways. "Maybe I can catch him."

Before he can even reach the door though, his dad catches him by the sleeve, stopping him.

"She locked the door," he explains.

"Yeah, she said we need to stay in until we're let out," Arran adds.

Gale scowls at the door, irritation and panic mixing in his stomach. "Did she happen to say when that would be?"

Arran snorts. "What do you think?"

So...no.

Grinding his teeth, Gale goes to the door anyway, reaching out and turning the handle roughly, trying several fruitless attempts to pull it open. It doesn't though, just stays stubbornly shut, until only Wiress knows when.

Turning back to his dad, Gale tugs at his hair. "I need to get to Haymitch." He glances around the room. "There has to be an emergency exit or something."

He goes to the window and pushes on it, tries to pull it up, but it's sealed shut.

"Something is wrong," he tells his dad when he comes over, eyebrows pulled together in concern. "I need to get to him."

He's important to Madge. He's protected her, rescued her from the home and been as close as a father to her for the past few years. She needs the dirty bastard and Gale just knows that if he doesn't get to him then she won't have him anymore. That's not something he can risk.

His dad frowns, glances down at the ground for a moment, then up at Gale, jerking his head toward the closet. "Come here."

Gale isn't sure why his dad wants to go into the cavernous closet, which smells a little too perfumed for his tastes, but he's sure it isn't to pick out a new shirt and pants.

Looking back at Jude and Arran, Gale's dad takes a deep breath.

"Stay here. We might be a while."

Arran nods, his forehead creasing deeply, but Jude, who seems to have been listening intently, stands.

"Where are you going?"

"I can't t-"

"Bullshit, Asher," Jude snaps. "I've had enough secrets and lies. You tell me where you're going or you don't go."

Thom wakes up, scooting back on the bed, looking uncertain at what he's woken to, and Arran's eyes flick between the two men.

Gale starts to tell Jude to sit down and just do what they say, but he doubts that would go over too well. Jude hasn't gotten a lot of say lately, and he's clearly more than a little put out with that.

Finally, after several tense minutes of grinding teeth and cold looks, Gale's dad relents.

"The girl, Phoebe, she gets back and forth from the rooms through a passage in the closets. Maybe Gale can get out through her room and catch Haymitch," he explains. His expression sags. "Happy?"

Jude doesn't look particularly happy, but getting Gale and his dad out of his sights for even a few minutes seems appealing enough, so he nods. "Fine."

Turning sharply, his dad marches out, Gale right on his heels.

#######

It takes a few minutes of rifling around in the strange clothes and uncomfortable looking shoes, but Asher finally finds the opening to the passage between the rooms. He isn't honestly trying though. Following Wiress' orders to the letter has kept them safe so far, and he'd like to continue that trend.

He almost wishes Jude had let his frustration and anger boil over, thrown a punch or a lamp, anything to keep Asher from leaving and helping Gale. Jude didn't though. He's too level headed for that kind of thing.

Besides that, Gale looks desperate and Asher has never been able to let his children down if he could help it.

He does it by accident, pressing down on a pair of clunky, silver colored heels with his knee as he feels around on the back of the wall, behind several heavy ball gowns.

It opens silently to a gaping hole just large enough for him to crouch down and crawl through on his hands and knees, and a cool breeze drifts out, causing the lace on the dresses to flutter. He immediately doesn't want to go in.

Despite the fact that it isn't earthen, it reminds him of a mine. A mine in the Capitol isn't something he wants to deal with at the moment.

"Okay, dad?" Gale asks from behind him.

Turning, Asher finds himself looking into his son's worried eyes.

Immediately his mind flies to the days after the mines collapsed, after the Mayor's death and his wife and daughter's disappearance.

He'd sat at the kitchen table, studying the wood grain and wondering how things had gone so terribly wrong, in the dying hours of the night, right before he had to go back into the mines, for the first time since the collapse.

His brother, Levi, had died in that pit, one of only a couple of men that had been reassigned into a familiar stretch of the mine.

"Guess you drew the short straw for once, little brother," he'd laughed when the new crews had been posted. "Not getting to work with me anymore."

Asher had rolled his eyes at that.

Much as he loved his brother, working with him was a chore. It was part of the reason he'd been left out of the plot against the Capitol.

He liked to drink too much, was too loud, had too big of a personality for any of the others to be easy with him being part of the inner workings.

Asher wished he'd fought to have him in it now, though. For all his faults, Levi was smart, more than he let on, and Asher can't help but think he'd have seen the cracks in their plot before it had blown up in their face.

Gale had found him and dropped into the chair across from him, his too short pants inching up above his ankles, those familiar worried eyes glowing in what had been left of the moonlight.

"Okay, dad?"

He knew, even then, that Asher was scared. Even if Asher wouldn't admit it.

Asher had nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah, son."

He'd been terrified of going back into those mines. The chances of him dying in them seemed so much more real after the collapse, after Levi died and the Mayor's family was ripped apart. His family would be alone, dependent on Hazelle's washing and what Gale had learned from him.

Standing, he'd pulled Gale up and into a hug. "I'm fine."

Now, looking into the tunnel connecting him to the outside, he feels that same sense of dread.

The room is like his house had been, safe, certain, a sanctuary where he can ensure his family is safe.

The tunnel is the mines, dangerous and uncertain, equal parts likely death and the chance to provide for his family. Even if the only family it might help at the moment is Gale.

Swallowing down fear, he forces a smile. "Fine, son."

Then he crawls into the tunnel.

It's freezing, the air stings his nose and eyes, but he shuffles along, glancing over his shoulder at Gale every few seconds as they pick directions at random, following the draft and traces of dust in what they hope is Phoebe's direction. Maybe she'll still be there and she can give them some answers. If not, they might be able to catch Haymitch from there.

Either one is agreeable to Asher.

Finally, after several frozen minutes, they find the other end.

Hoping that their tracking is accurate, Asher finds pushes on the door.

To his relief, it clicks, opening to a pale room.

It's a closet too, if the clothing is any indication. It's the same, but different.

Silver in place of gold, pale blues and greens instead of crimsons, but the same full length mirrors.

Crawling out, Asher looks around, straightening his clothes as he does.

Gale topples out, landing in a heap in a pile of pointy toed shoes. He gets up, rubbing his knees and scowling as he looks around. "How do we know we picked the right room?"

Looking at the door, Asher shakes his head. "Won't. Not until we open those doors."

He hopes they've picked the right room. If Phoebe isn't in he isn't sure what they're going to find.

Something thumps in the other room.

Hesitantly, Asher goes to the door, twisting the ornate handle quietly.

"Oh, Annie, he isn't dead," an irritable voice chastises someone who is loudly sobbing.

Asher frowns over his shoulder at Gale before throwing the door open.

It's a strange scene if he's ever seen one.

Phoebe is half on the bed, struggling to push a limp body onto a cushion, aided by a tearful, dark-haired women.

When she hears the door open she looks up, her expression flat. "This isn't what it looks like. He isn't dead." She reaches up and presses her fingers to his neck, nodding. "Yeah, he's alive."

Gale's eyebrows rise and his expression slips into disbelief. "It looks like you drugged Finnick Odair."

Green hair bobs as Phoebe nods. "Well, then, yes. It looks exactly like what it is."

Squinting, Asher spots bronze hair and the normally smiling face of Finnick Odair, now lax and lolling awkwardly on the lap of the dark-haired woman.

Dumbfounded, both Gale and Asher stay frozen in the spot, unable to move forward or go back. The situation is too odd to comprehend.

"You know," Phoebe grunts, "clearly you've gone to a lot of trouble to get here. If you want to ask questions helping me get this lug off the floor would get you to that end a lot quicker."

Eyebrows pulling together in a scowl, Gale stomps over and grabs Odair's legs, flinging him onto the bed before roughly shoving his shoulders off the woman's lap, causing him to roll, face down onto a fluffy pillow.

"Finnick!" The woman sobs, rolling him again and cradling his head in her lap, shooting Gale a tearfully angry look. "Don't hurt him!"

Phoebe punches Gale lightly in the shoulder. "Yeah, Gale, be a little more-"

Before she can finish though, Gale has grabbed her by the front of her dress and shoved her into a finely carved bedside table, knocking a lamp to the floor with a thud.

"What's going on with Haymitch?" He snaps. She tugs at his hands and starts to kick him, but Gale pins her legs down. "Stop that and talk!"

"I don't know what you're yelling about you complete ass-fritter!"

"You do to!" He tightens his grip and pulls her closer to his face.

"Gale!" Asher yells. "Let her go. This isn't how-"

The woman leaps from the bed, lunging at Gale and knocking him off balance, freeing Phoebe.

She begins hitting him, babbling incoherently through sobs and sniffles while Gale tries to cover his head.

Rushing over, Asher grabs her and pulls her up, getting kicked in the shin and a mouthful of hair as she struggles against him.

"It's okay, Annie," Phoebe tells her, voice a little raspy. "Go back to Finnick."

The woman, Annie, stills, body going limp in Asher's arms before she takes a deep breath. Tilting her head around, she gives him a strange little smile, something mixed between wild and calm. "I won't hit anymore."

Though he isn't sure he should trust her not to try to kill his son again, he supposes it's a sign of good faith. He loosens his grip and lets her go.

She doesn't so much as glance at Gale, who has a livid bruise growing on his cheek thanks to her, as she steps over him and back to the bed. Crawling on the bed, she curls up next to Odair, closing her eyes and sighing.

Pushing himself up, Gale spits a little blood onto the baby blue carpet and glares at Phoebe. Getting beaten clearly the last thing on his mind. "What's wrong with Haymitch?"

"Noth-"

"Phoebe!" Asher snaps, using the same voice that always works so well against Rory when he's being unbearable, taunting one of his siblings.

Instantly she freezes, wide eyes framed in unnaturally long eyelashes blinking slowly as she stares at him uncertainly. Finally, her lips pucker in a frown. "Fine."

Turning to Annie, she speaks softly, "You stay here. Remember, I put instructions in the book in the table."

Annie nods, her face still buried in the crook of Odair's neck.

Lifting a delicate hand, Phoebe points to the closet door, eyes narrowed now.

The three of them quietly pad in, Phoebe pulling the doors shut behind them.

She turns, chewing the inside of her lip and crossing her arms over her chest as she settles Gale in a steady glare.

"Look," she begins, her voice a little shaky, "there are parts of this game you don't know about, okay?"

"Enlighten me," Gale growls.

"I can't."

"You can."

She looks so small, so like Posy, caught in a fib, guarding her middle and looking anywhere but at Gale and Asher. The top of her dress is still askew, a pink patch fading on her chest where Gale had grabbed her, and her cheeks bright.

Walking over, Asher flops the top of a chest, overflowing with silken garments, down and drops onto it. Reaching out, he takes one of her hands.

"Whatever this is, you need to tell us," he tells her.

She keeps her eyes on the ground in front of her, still chewing the inside of her cheek.

"What's coming has to be," she finally whispers. "It's for the best."

"What's going to happen to Haymitch?" Gale asks again. "Something isn't right."

And Asher gets the feeling it has to do with Finnick Odair being unconscious in the other room.

Squeezing her hand, he decides to take a stab in the dark. "It doesn't seem to be for the best. Not if you're taking your friends in there out of the game."

For a second she doesn't respond, and Asher thinks he might've missed the mark, until she cuts her eyes to him.

"You don't know what I'm doing," she whispers. Her lips twitch up. "But you're doing a good job at guessing."

A small smile plays at the edges of Asher's lip and he gives her hand another squeeze. "No more guessing. I've been part of too many deaths, and I think you have too. It's gonna be okay, just tell me what's going on, please."

Her eyes close and she takes a deep breath, nodding. "Okay."

#######

Madge follows Katniss, her own footsteps much too heavy and much too noisy, through the thin cover of trees leading up to the Mayor's house.

Her stomach is in knots, wishing she could've brought her mother with her. She might not even be able to get back to the house to be with her when things fall apart, and the thought of her scared and alone, unsure where the only people in the world she cares about are, puts Madge on edge.

"I'm sorry about this," she whispers to Katniss.

Katniss doesn't even look over her shoulder as she grunts, "Doesn't matter. What's done is done."

Madge starts to say it does matter. She's put Katniss' family in danger, and what's done may be done, but it isn't right.

Before she can say that though, Katniss stops, turning on her heels sharply and sighing.

"I'm never going to be happy about all this, but...at least I can do something to keep Prim and my mom safe. If I hadn't been drug into this, that wouldn't make it not happen. Does that make sense?"

It does, and that makes Madge strangely happy.

Being involved in this mess of a plan gives Katniss the power to protect her family. It makes her an active participant instead of a passive victim. That's something Madge can appreciate.

Nodding, Madge gives her a small smile, one that Katniss almost returns.

They tread up through the trees, creeping as silently as Madge's clumsy feet can go, until they see the faint outline and darkened windows of the house. The Mayor is asleep, which is a hopeful sign. They just have to get to the explosives hiding place now.

"You girls planning a party," and even voice cuts through the stillness of the night.

Turning, Madge and Katniss find a pair of guns in their faces.

The Peacekeepers are young, maybe only a few years older than themselves, but they have the same mean, hungry look that they all have. Like they've caught a wild turkey during the leanest months of the year and are about to dine like the President.

One of them reaches out and grabs Madge, pulling her to her feet and taking her face roughly in his hand, inspecting it and blowing liquor tinged breath in her face. "What a pretty little thing. She's Abernathy's little pet, isn't she?"

The other man chuckles darkly. "Yeah, but he's not in town." His eyes glow darkly in the moonlight. "Can't protect her or that trollop mother of hers."

She's shoved to the ground, landing on a stump and sending a shot of pain up her side.

"Leave her alone!" Katniss throws herself at the one closest to her, knocking him to the ground and wrestling with him for the gun.

Clearly thinking a girl isn't much of a threat, the other Peacekeeper laughs, deep, amused rumbles before he turns his attention back to Madge.

She'd almost made it to her feet, planning on jumping on Katniss' Peacekeeper's back and helping her friend out as best she can, but her own guard kicks her feet back out from under her, sending another stab of pain up her side.

"No, no, pretty girl. Don't want that face of yours getting messed up," he laughs, taking a step towards her, loosening his belt. "Heard you were slumming it with some miner. Too bad you didn't just take after your mom in looks. I'd've liked unspoiled goo-"

Something slams into the side of his head, scalding hot and wet, and he screams, falling to the ground and clutching his face.

Stunned, Madge looks to her left and finds the last person she would've ever expected.

"Delly?"

Standing, kettle in hand and a scowl on her normally friendly face, Delly watches the Peacekeeper writhe on the ground before reaching down and pulling Madge to her feet. Then she turns and walks over to where Katniss and the other man are still fighting.

Raising her kettle, Delly brings it down on the back of his head with a dull thud, and instantly the fight ends with him collapsing on Katniss, much to her annoyance.

"Are you two okay?" She asks, her normal, sweet and soft spoken voice back even as she easily lifts the man off Katniss.

"Fine," Katniss croaks, rubbing her throat where the Peacekeeper had been choking her.

Madge gapes. "Delly, what are you doing here?"

Delly starts to answer, but the scalded Peacekeeper's sobs distract her. She holds up a finger before walking over to him and hitting him over the head with her kettle, soundly silencing him.

Smiling weakly as she turns back to them, Delly grips her kettle's handle tightly.

"I saw the two of you out my kitchen window while I was making tea, and then I saw the Peacekeepers and-" she takes a deep breath, her eyes filling with tears, "I know what happens to girls sometimes, and-"

Madge puts a hand on Delly's shoulder, wincing, she must've pinched a nerve when she landed on that stump. "Delly, thank you."

She didn't have to come up. In fact, it would've been in her best interest not to. She could've just as easily ended up like Katniss and Madge nearly had. Delly is good though, nice almost to the point of being annoying at times, of course she'd do the right thing.

Her smile widening, Delly looks around. "What are you doing? Why are you here?"

Madge looks at Katniss, who still seems guarded, despite the fact that Delly had just rescued them, then back to Delly.

They need help. They'd sent Peeta and the others off to start the warning, but the truth was another set of hands to carry explosives of unknown stability would be helpful.

Taking a deep breath, preparing for the worst and hoping for the best, Madge focuses her attention on Delly.

"Alright, just listen."

#######

Hazelle frowns when Peeta stops at the edge of the Victors' Village, once Katniss and Madge are out of view.

"Where are you going?" She asks.

He turns and gives her a small smile. "Getting Matilda."

"Madge said she'd get her," Vick points out, his hands on his hips.

"Madge isn't my boss," Peeta laughs.

Rory crosses his arms, reminding Hazelle too much of Gale. "If you get her then Madge will come back for nothing."

Peeta shakes his head.

"I'll get her then head up to the breaker house. Meet them there when they show up with the explosives and drop her off."

"But the people in Town-"

"-will come out when you all set off the alarm," he says simply. "I'll be back in Town by then and I'll be able to warn people faster when they're out in the streets trying to figure out what's happening than door to door."

Rory's face settles into a scowl, again, a little too close to Gale's own, and looks at Hazelle.

It's reasonable, she'll give him that. It also eases her mind that Madge won't be running back through the District and then to the fence during a potential Capitol made disaster. Gale and Ash are risking everything for her, she has to live to see it.

"I'm not risking her life. Even if I have to drag her with me and have every door slammed in my face, I'm not leaving an innocent woman's life to chance."

Hazelle stares at him for a minute.

He's a good boy, which is a shock considering who his mother is. Though Hazelle hasn't had a conversation with Eugenia Mellark since before the other woman had graduated school, she knows what kind of mother she is. Asher had come home on more than one occasion with stories about her foul temper and bruises on her sons' little arms when they'd been younger.

The stories are fewer know, maybe because the boys are too big, and their father does most of the trading, but Hazelle doubts it.

Children learn fast, and if she had to guess, she'd say the Mellark brother simply got better at hiding their bruises. When she'd been little she certainly had.

Peeta Mellark wanting to go back for Matilda is a shock, but a good one. Any concerns that might've rattled around in Hazelle's mind about what kind of man he is are silenced.

"Be quick," she finally tells him. "And be careful."

A small smile flicks up on his lips. "Yes, ma'am."

And with that he's gone, running back to the now darkened house.

Hazelle gestures for her children to come along.

"Let's get to the foreman's office."

They need to be there before the electricity goes off, make sure the back-up cables to the batteries are in decent condition or the whole plan will fall apart.

Rory stomps ahead, eager to make a mess, and Hazelle takes a breath, gathering Posy up and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

As she takes a step, she feels a small warm hand wrap around hers.

Looking down, she finds Vick, a weak smile on his face.

"It's gonna be okay, mom," he whispers, squeezing her hand.

She nods, forcing a smile.

She hopes he's right.

#######

Gale stares at his hands, as Alameda finishes telling them just what the end of Wiress' plan entails.

"She shouldn't get to make that decision," he hears his dad say. "She shouldn't get to say who lives and dies."

"Why not? She always has," Alameda says back, shrugging.

All the Victors, according to Alameda, are going to be at the announcement, and Wiress has decided that the best thing for the country is for all of them to die alongside Snow.

That's the plan, according to Alameda. Something about the situation, though, doesn't seem right to Gale. Just like his dad had said. It can't be so simple if they've had to drug a friend. It can't be good.

"What about Odair?" He asks suddenly, looking up. "You still haven't explained him. Why did Wiress decide to poison him?"

Maybe he's a dissenter, didn't want to go willingly to his death, or simply disagreed with her about some small detail. There's no telling.

Alameda picks at her nails and her eyes settle on the ground. "She didn't exactly give this part of the plan the seal of approval."

Pushing himself from the wall, Gale walks over to where she sits, narrowing his eyes on her. "What do you mean?"

She fidgets for a moment, shifting uncomfortably beside his dad on the trunk, thinking over her answer before she lets out a long breath.

Finally, she looks up.

Her expression reminds Gale of his brothers when they've done something they were explicitly told not to do.

Scared, but defiant.

"She-I didn't want Finnick or Annie there, they're good, they don't deserve to die, but Wiress said everyone needed to be there," she mutters. "Finnick would've been suspicious if I told him and Annie to stay away, and he'd have told everyone else to stay away if I told him why I wanted him to skip the announcement, so…I had Annie help me and I…well, you saw."

"Drugged him?" Gale's dad supplies.

Alameda shrugs, looking only mildly concerned. "He'll be fine. Annie will keep him safe and they'll go unlock the door for your friends after everything happens. I left them instructions on how to get them out of the Capitol and where to take them. I'm thorough."

Gale nods. She certainly is.

Sighing, Gale rubs a hand over his face.

Haymitch is going to die and Madge is going to be devastated. She's already lost her dad, Gale can't let her lose her…well, whatever the hell Haymitch is to her, too.

Heading for the door, Gale only stops when he hears his dad call his name.

"Gale," he pushes himself up from the trunk and frowns, "just where do you think you're going?"

Swallowing down bile, Gale sets his jaw. "To get Haymitch."

He won't let Madge lose someone else, not when he has it in his power to save them. Even if that someone is a drunken asshole.

"You'll be killed."

Gale's dad's face has lost all its color, making it almost as pale as Alameda.

"I won't," Gale tells him. He hasn't made it this far only to die. He's going to survive this and get back to Madge and his family. This is going to be the beginning of good things, he won't let it be marred by Haymitch's death.

Besides, loath as he is to admit it, he's grown fond of the bastard. He took Madge and her mother when he had no obligation to do so, has kept them fed and clothed, safe, for the last several years, he can't be all bad.

Mostly bad, but not all.

He starts to turn again, but stops when his dad starts to follow.

Gale gives him a questioning look.

"I'm your dad, Gale. I'm not letting you go at this alone."

As much as Gale would like to tell him he can't come, this is something he needs to do on his own, he can't. He does need help, just not his dad's.

"No, you stay-"

"I'm going with you," his dad cut him off firmly. "This isn't negotiable."

He holds Gale's glare for a few seconds, until Gale takes a deep breath. He doesn't have time to argue. Too much time has wasted already.

"Fine," he sighs. "Alameda, come on. I need a ride."

"Sure thing, Dorothy. I'm heading that way anyways. You're in the trunk though. I have a reputation to protect."

"No," his dad puts a hand up and shakes his head, turning to the girl. "Phoebe, you stay here."

She rolls her eyes and pushes herself off the trunk, walking over to them.

"Maybe I have someone there I need to save," she offers, her chin rising a fraction.

Gale huffs. "Do you?"

She grins. "Nope. Believe it or not, I don't have many friends, and the few I do have aren't gonna be at that party."

Gale snorts, but his dad's frown deepens.

"If you aren't coming to save someone, you aren't coming at all."

"You don't know how to get to the Mansion," she points out, knowing she's playing a winning card. Gale and his dad don't' know the first thing about navigating the Capitol.

Realizing this, Gale's dad crosses his arms and takes a deep breath.

"Fine," he finally grumbles, "but you stay with me. I'm not letting you go there to die."

Why his dad is suddenly so attached to the little nuisance, Gale isn't sure, but it adds another level of difficulty to the situation. He'll have to keep an eye on the both of them to make sure Alameda doesn't do something stupid, because his dad and his newfound concern for her will go chasing after.

"You're very sweet Mr. Hawthorne, but I should've died a few years ago. Today is what I've been waiting for since the end of my Game."

"Phoebe…"

Her lips twitch up into a weak little smile and she pops up on her toes, pressing a kiss to Gale's dad's cheek. "Everyone dies. Today or ten years from now, what difference does it make to me?"

Gale frowns, wondering if he'd be so calm walking to his own death and hoping he doesn't have to find the answer, at least not anytime soon.

Grabbing the door handle, Gale takes a deep breath.

"The only death that has to happen today is Snow's," he tells them as he pushes the door open.

#######

Delly nearly trips over a fallen branch, with her skirt cupped up, filled with explosives.

"Oh, I hope these don't go off," she whimpers. "This ground is so uneven."

Katniss' cheek twitches, but she continues on, leaving Madge to hang back and comfort Delly.

They're lucky she didn't run off and sound the alarm. Her help, though less than ideal, is useful. Their loads are much easier to carry with Delly lugging a surprisingly healthy amount.

"It has to have a trigger," Madge assures her.

Nodding, Delly blows some hair out of her face and carries on, carefully stepping over a branch.

"I can't believe Gale is in the Capitol. All for you," she sighs. "So romantic."

Katniss actually makes a choking noise, though her back is still to them. She, at least, doesn't seem to think it's romantic. Insane, deadly, but certainly not romantic.

Madge had tried to give her a brief summary of what was going on, but Delly had interrupted each sentence with a question, which led to another question, and then another, and another…

Less than a minute into her explanation, Madge had ended up at the beginning, having to tell her about how Mr. Abernathy had helped Gale get in with the geological corps and then gone from there, shushing her rapt audience member each time she tried to ask a question.

"And Haymitch trying to marry you off just to keep the Capitol from getting you and your mother?" She smiles brightly. "We all thought he just her around for sex-"

Madge almost trips.

"-but he actually cares about the two of you!"

"What?" Madge stops, mouth hanging open. "Why would anyone think that?"

Was that what everyone thought? That her mother was some kind of concubine for Mr. Abernathy?

Katniss, who has stopped and is looking back, her mouth turned down. "Why else would he go get a nut out of the bin?"

Delly nods. "She isn't exactly known for her witty personality."

Face pulled up in a scowl, Madge can't speak.

Her mother is strange, but then again, so is Mr. Abernathy. That's why they get along so well. He saved them because he was friends with Madge's father, he was friends with her mother too. Saving her and Madge was the act of a friend.

Nothing else.

"He saved us because he loves us," she finally grinds out. "He was friends with my parents and he-friends help each other out. You'd help Gale if something happened with one of his parents, wouldn't you, Katniss?"

Her eyebrows rise. "Up until recently? Yeah."

Madge nods. Fair enough. "Okay, see?"

"So they aren't…"

"No," Madge snaps at Delly.

She doesn't have time for this.

Huffing, she stomps off, face burning.

It's absolutely ridiculous, the thought of her mother and-

She shakes her head. No distractions.

Delly and Katniss' baseless, and they are, completely and utterly baseless, fantasies will have to wait. Madge can finish straightening them out on the non-relationship between her mother and Mr. Abernathy once they blow up the breaker house.

Assuming she makes it back to the fence.

If she doesn't, she supposes they can believe whatever they want. It won't matter to her.

"Let's get going."


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.

Hazelle sets Posy down as she inspects the window at the back of the foreman's office.

It's down, closed and locked, but she supposes a broken window is small crime compared to the much larger one it's going to lead to.

"Momma?" Posy frowns, squinting at the building curiously. "What are we doing?"

"Shhh," Vick tells her, taking her hand. "Don't talk, Posy."

Nodding, Hazelle gives her a pained smile. "Hush, baby."

"It's a game," Rory whispers.

Vick nods. "Like the quiet game. And when it's over, there's gonna be fireworks."

Posy's face lights up. "Fireworks?"

Rory and Vick start elaborating, telling her to keep her eyes on the sky, in the direction where Katniss and Madge will be. There'll be huge fireworks, they assure her, but she has to be very quiet.

"Like this," she whispers, still a little loudly.

Vick grimaces, but Rory smiles and gives one of her pig tails a tug.

"Yeah, Pose. Just like that."

Giving her a small smile, Hazelle nods and gestures for her to sit. She needs to be outside to see the fireworks after all.

Looking around, Hazelle searches out something heavy to smash the glass with when Rory grabs her arm and pulls her down behind a bush. His nose scrunches up as he looks around.

"Do you hear that?"

Hazelle doesn't, but her hearing isn't as sharp as any of their children. They clearly inherited that from Asher.

Straining, Hazelle tries, for a few cold seconds, before she hears voices.

There are several of them, all male, laughing and carrying on, glass clanking, the ruckus carrying in the wind. Peacekeepers, just their luck.

Falling back on her bottom, she pulls Posy and Vick close to her sides, scrunching down as small as she can, hoping against hope that they march by.

To her horror, they stop, singing a bawdy song while they take turns urinating in the bushes, each one inching closer to the foreman's office and the hiding spot.

Several painfully long minutes pass by with the Peacekeepers loitering, discussing things that Hazelle wishes her children never to hear again, laughing and drinking while she feels her heart pounding harder and harder against her chest.

She squeezes Posy closer, imploring her to please stay quiet, the fireworks are coming, she promises.

Please leave, she thinks, over and over again.

Looking over, she sees Vick and Rory having a silent conversation.

They've always been like that, thick as thieves.

They shouldn't be, she thinks, they're as different as night and day. Rory seems to live for trouble and Vick is mortified of causing any.

They do though. They're brothers. As close as Asher and his brother had been before the mine collapse.

Just like Asher and Levi, Rory and Vick might disagree, squabble like siblings do, but they'd follow each other to hell and back. Suddenly, that seems ominous to Hazelle, as she watches them plot silently.

Vick suddenly wiggles from her grasp, crawling away.

"Vick!" She hisses. "Rory!"

They stop, already down on their bellies, ready to slither away through the grass and to the road.

"Where are you going?" She whispers, hoping her voice is drowned out by the singing.

'Distraction,' Rory mouths back, gesturing between himself and Vick, who nods sharply in agreement.

Hazelle shakes her head. Stop.

They're being ridiculous. What kind of distraction could they possibly be? They'll be killed.

This is Asher shining through in them, trying to be a hero and save them all. It's one of the traits she admires most and hates most, for all the potential to end in disaster that it poses.

She jabs her finger at her side. Get back here or there'll be hell to pay. This is not the time to be heroes.

Rory shakes his head, his jaw set. He won't change his mind.

Hazelle looks at Vick, hoping he'll be reasonable, but he just mirrors Rory.

Both of them roll back on their stomachs, start to crawl away, Hazelle trying to grab them by the ankles as they go, when another voice mixes in.

"What are you idiots doing up here!" The man barks harshly, Hazelle can almost hear the spit hitting someone in the face as he does.

They all start tripping over themselves, a babble of excuses and apologies, but the man cuts them off.

"Damned bunch of drunks!" He throws something and Hazelle winces as it hits the front window, just a few yards from her and the children. She hears the glass crack, shatter and hit the ground. "Now look what you've made me do!"

Another chorus of apologies churns up, several seem to start to come back to the house and clean up, but the man snaps at them to stop.

"I don't want the mess of you in the infirmary for cuts and infections because you're too drunk to clean this mess up," he grumbles. "Besides, I came up here for some privacy."

Then someone giggles.

It's high, feminine, and Hazelle almost rolls her eyes at it. Of course, their savior is a nasty Peacekeeper with some poor girl from the Seam for the night.

Even in the dark she can see Vick's color darken as he rolls on his back, refusing to look at the scene anymore. Rory on the other hand, stays on his stomach, wiggling around and trying to see everything he can.

"Go!" The Peacekeeper snarls.

The men shuffle off, still muttering 'I'm sorry' and 'No harm meant, sir' as their voices grow more distant.

Once they're gone, down the road back toward the town, Hazelle lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

One lusty Peacekeeper she might be able to handle…

Before she can formulate a plan, maybe crawl around back and come up behind him and knock him out, Rory charges out, a brick from the wall that had once circled the foreman's office in hand.

"Leave her alone!" He shouts as he vanishes from Hazelle's sight.

Her heart stops and the world seems to slow.

They might have a chance against the Peacekeeper if they had the element of surprise, but not this way.

Vick jumps to his feet, grabbing up a stick and charging after his brother, startling Hazelle out of her stupor.

Her babies are in trouble, there isn't time to sit like an idiot.

Lunging out, leaving a stunned and silent Posy, Hazelle lands a few feet from her boys, ready to do whatever it takes to protect her children.

She stops though, when she realizes Rory has dropped his brick and Vick's mouth is hanging open, staring at the man and woman.

Squinting, confused beyond belief at her sons' sudden break from their attack, takes in the pair.

Standing, looking impressive and very official in a Peacekeeper's officer uniform, is Peeta. He's got the helmet under his arm and is grinning, looking extremely pleased with himself.

"Not bad for a back-up Mercutio, if I do say so myself," he says to the woman, his smile never faltering.

She grins, nodding, making her floppy hat jerk on her head, water droplets falling from her hair underneath, and Hazelle has to blink several times to make sure she's seeing her right.

"Matilda?" She asks, feeling as though she's missed something.

"Oh, hello Hazelle," she chirps, as though tricking a group of drunken Peacekeepers happens on a regular basis. "Lovely night." Her smile widens. "Peeta told me we're going to go see Haymitch. Are you coming too?"

Uncertain how to answer, Hazelle just nods and looks at Peeta.

He must sense her confusion, because he gives Matilda a pat on the hand and starts walking towards the broken window.

"I'll explain here in a minute," he tells Hazelle as he passes by, handing his helmet off to Vick. "First, we have a battery to check."

#######

Gale shifts uncomfortably in the jacket Alameda had tossed at him before leaving the room.

"Just stick it on. You two will stand out like, well, miners out there," she'd explained.

The hallway she took them down was cool, almost as cold as the tunnel they'd taken to the other room. It was decorated with ugly, too bright paintings, half-dressed people and strange animals occupying most, blotches of color and shapes in the others.

"Not art fans, I take it?" Alameda asked, directing them to the end of the hall, to an ornate looking pair of doors.

"That," Gale grumbled, averting his eyes from a gross exaggeration of male genitals, "isn't art."

"Says you," she shrugged.

Punching a button, the doors dined, open and reveal a small room. The elevator.

"It's huge," Gale heard his dad mutter.

"Stop acting like you've never seen any of this before," Alameda whispered through gritted teeth, her false smile never faltering.

"We haven't," Gale growled back.

"Well, don't act like it."

The elevator was manned by a boy, probably a little older than Rory, and Alameda chirped at him, "Lobby, darlin'."

It wasn't like the elevator in the mines, creaky and jerky, threatening with each level to drop them to their deaths. This elevator glided, like a soap bubble through the air, letting them drift down, softly and quickly to the ground, dinging brightly when they reached their destination.

When the doors opened up, Gale had to fight to keep his jaw off the ground.

There was noise everywhere, chiming and ringing, people laughing, strange, happy music blaring over the din. People were scattered, standing around tables, throwing dice and spinning wheels, drinking and eating, tossing food into bins as though the Districts couldn't be fed with what they're throwing away.

Lights flashed and spun, as Alameda jerked both Gale and his dad from the elevator.

They stuck close to the wall, keeping to Alameda's heels and Gale was certain he'd seen sky outside an enormous window, when he was jerked back by a cold hand.

"You're delicious, aren't you?" A husky woman's voice blew against his neck as she pressed herself to him, making him squirm.

Before he could register what was happening, jerk back or tell her to get off, he was pulled away, almost thrown into his dad still standing against the wall.

"Sorry, Evlyn, he's already paid for," Alameda told the woman coolly, not a smile in sight.

The woman, who looked to have been dipped in chalk dust, smiled, blood red lips splitting her face like a wound. "I didn't think you liked to play, Phoebe?"

Alameda's green eyebrows arched up and her face pulls back in dislike. "Guess you thought wrong then."

The woman leaned around her, cold pale eyes glinting at Gale and his dad. "Two? Jumping in with both feet aren't we?"

"At least I'm not related to either of them," Alameda hissed, causing the woman to lose what little color was left in her skin. Lips twisting up, Alameda turned on her heels. "Go get your brother, Evlyn."

What that meant, Gale didn't know, but judging by Evlyn's glare on Alameda's back, it wasn't exactly what it sounded like.

They'd moved faster after that, through the crush of people and to the spinning glass doors at the front of the hotel, out to a group of avoxes standing along the curb.

She walked along, peaking between each of them at the cars lined up and waiting for their owners, obviously looking for something.

"I'll take that," Alameda said as she pushed past them and jumped into an odd looking car, waving for Gale and his dad to get in too.

Gale glanced over his shoulder as he jumped into the backseat of what he suddenly knew was soon going to be a stolen car, at the resigned looks on the faces of the avoxes. Clearly, Alameda did this regularly enough that they simply didn't care.

"Do you know how to drive?" Gale's dad asked as he accidentally kicked something on the front dash, causing something to fall out of the front.

"Wrong question," she replied, reaching into a mangy looking bag she had slung over her shoulder.

"Can you drive good?" Gale asked, feeling more than a little irritated with her.

She was on the way to her death and she was still playing games.

"Better than you can use language," she mutters before turning to his dad. "Have you ever ridden in a car before?"

He frowned. "No."

She'd pulled a hand, a human hand, from her bag and pressed the palm to a pad on the dash, causing the entire car to come to life.

Her grin widened. "Then I'm an excellent driver."

That statement, Gale decides, is a blatant lie.

They careen around the corners, up a ramp and off, losing contact with the ground momentarily, causing people to honk at them and shout curses he's never heard before in their direction.

"Watch it!" He yells as she nearly hits a cherry red two wheeled contraption.

"He shouldn't be splitting lanes," she complains. Her expression brightens as the makes a rude gesture at the man they'd just nearly run off the road. "And don't worry. I'm a Victor."

"Does being a Victor mean you can steal a car and cut off people's hands?" Gale snaps.

"You bet your chiseled jaw it does!"

They speed along, ignoring the signs across the roads with instructions and weaving between cars as Gale scowls at the back of her head.

"What the plan?" She finally asks. "For getting Mr. Haymitch I mean?"

"Get to the stage and get to him before this shit goes down," Gale tells her.

"You are a tactical mastermind."

"Any pointers would be greatly appreciated," Gale's dad says softly. "This is your territory, after all."

A little smile forms on her lips, and she gives him a soft look.

"You're a real doll, you know that? How you produced Dorothy the drag, I'll never know." Her shoulders jerk up. "Then again, Mr. Haymitch is the human equivalent of nails on a chalk board and Madge seems perfectly sweet, so clearly genetics isn't everything."

Gale pulls himself up between the seats.

"What are you talking about? You realize Haymitch just took custody of Madge because her dad died and her mother can't take care of them."

For someone that's supposed to be the knower of the unknowable, she's pretty clueless.

She laughs, genuinely amused.

"Yeah, he just took them in out of the goodness of his heart." She tilts her head and grins. "Undersee was protecting Madge and Matilda. Victors' families don't last long, and Mr. Haymitch pissed the Capitol off bad when he won. He was poison and he knew it. When Undersee died though, well, Mr. Haymitch took a gamble. Lucky him he was just irrelevant enough for the Capitol to believe the little lies we fed people."

Gale blinks slowly, trying to process what she's said.

There have always been rumors about Haymitch and Matilda, about why he took Madge and her mother in, but Gale had always brushed them off. Madge wasn't like kids he knew had bad home lives, so none of those rumors could be true.

The rumors about him and her mother, on the other hand…

"Madge is Haymitch's daughter," Gale's dad says slowly, looking to her for confirmation.

She taps the end of her nose and grins.

"How do you know all this?" Gale snaps.

If she doesn't have solid evidence to back her up, he isn't buying any of it.

"Wiress," she answers simply. "She helped with the paperwork. Changing blood work and stuff. When I helped with the paperwork for him to get them out of government custody I found out. Wiress confirmed everything."

Gale feels his stomach roll, and not from her driving for once.

How had he missed that? Everyone gossiped about why Haymitch took two people in without reason, and Gale had been watching them for months, how had he not seen it?

"Madge is Haymitch's kid." Gale hears his dad repeat as the wind whips through his hair, sending it up wildly. "I can't believe it."

Alameda shrugs. "Believe it or not."

#######

Madge and Katniss place the last of the explosives, standing and counting each one again just to be sure, checking them against the papers to ensure they've got them in the right place.

Everything is perfect, the plans followed to the letter, but that doesn't make the knot in Madge's stomach any less tight.

These might be her last moments.

Once the building blows, she'll have to run, and her chances are slim of both making it back to her mother and getting out of the District before the Capitol rains down punishment on them.

She looks at her watch.

The announcement will be made soon, but no one in Twelve will hear it thanks to her, Katniss, and their unlikely helper, Delly.

Sending up a silent prayer that Hazelle, Peeta, and the kids will have sounded the alert, Madge pulls out the little wires and looks down at the next set of instructions.

Silently, she and Katniss begin unwinding the wire, letting it fall to the ground and trail behind them as they go out the door, almost bumping into Delly.

"Is it time?"

Katniss nods grimly, giving Delly a shove toward the trees.

It's a good distance from the breaker house, and Madge worries there won't be enough line right up until they reach the spot their map tells them is outside the blast zone.

I think anyways-Birdy had written in the margin.

Hand shaking slightly, Katniss hands the wires to Madge.

Pulling the detonator from her bag, Madge assembles it, just as the diagram shows.

Looking up, she forces a smile for a stony faced Katniss and a fearful Delly.

Now or never.

Holding her breath, she presses the button, and waits.

It happens almost instantly, and she wonders momentarily if it's Capitol magic that makes it so quick or simply the nature of the explosive.

The sky lights up, brilliant oranges and reds, reaching up into the dark clouds and staining them a strange purple. It's like lightening from the ground.

As Madge is transfixed by the violent light show, Katniss grabs her by the arm and pulls her, saving her from a concussion as some of the debris falls from the sky on their heads.

"Run!" Delly shouts, covering her head and sprinting, faster than Madge had ever imagined her to be able to move.

Legs moving without thought, Madge quickly out paces both of them, coming off the hill the breaker house had been on, down to the outermost edge of the now darkened Town.

Her feet slide on the loose dirt and bits of rock at the bottom, sending her to her knees as she stops.

"Damn," she mutters, pushing herself to her bottom and examining her skinned knees and scraped shins.

Looking over her shoulder, Katniss and Delly stutter step down the last of the hill, coming to graceless stops beside her.

"Are you-"

Katniss' concern is cut off by a loud wail. The siren.

Madge squints into the dark, towards where the foreman's office is.

They'd done it. The Town and the Seam would be coming into the streets and Peeta and the boys would be able to warn them. Everything is going to be okay.

Everyone will be safe, even if Madge and her mother won't be.

Getting to her feet, she gives Katniss a tight smile. "Go, you two need to help Peeta and the bo-"

"Madge!" A high, cracking voice cuts her off. "Madge hold on!"

Heart stopping in her chest, Madge turns and finds Vick, sweaty and terrified, running at her.

"Vick?"

Something is wrong, but what?

The building had blown and the siren had blown, why is Vick here though?

He skids to a stop, his face deeply flushed as he takes heavy, heaving breaths.

"Don't go," he manages to wheeze out. "Peeta got your mom."

Her heart starts again. "What?"

Vick wipes sweat from his face and gives her a pained smile. "Peeta got your mom. You don't have to go back."

"I told him not to," she sputters, indignant that he hadn't listened to her instructions. "How did he get her up?"

She'd been snowed when Madge left. Normally she wouldn't be up for days.

He just shrugs. "Dunno."

Closing her eyes, Madge feels hot tears start to build up.

Her mother is safe, Madge doesn't have to try to get across the District to save her, they don't have to die.

Tears slip out, down her cheeks, no doubt streaking in the soot that's coating her skin and she wipes them away, her hand coming away wet and gray.

Vick's warm hand wraps around her wrist and when Madge looks down she finds him smiling up at her.

"It's okay, Madge, it's gonna be okay," he reassures her.

And for the first time in months, she thinks it might be.

#######

Peeta helps Hazelle out the window once the alarm is sounded.

She's lucky he'd seen the Peacekeepers wandering up to the foreman's office, and decided to come to help them rather than the girls, the wiring to the battery had been a mess and years of working on his family's oven had given him just enough knowledge about electronics and wiring that he'd been able to straighten it out. She's even luckier he'd been in a uniform.

"Where did you get that awful thing?" She'd asked him, eyeing it disdainfully.

"Matilda," he answered simply.

Hazelle had given the outfit a quick up and down, wrinkling her nose. "What was she doing with it?"

Grimacing, Peeta had closed his eyes. "I honestly do not want to know." He sighed. "But she'd insisted it might come in handy. She's a goofy one, but she's pretty sharp too."

He explained that he'd gone back to the house and woken her with a bucket of water over her head.

That explains why her hair was wet.

"She wasn't too happy." His face scrunched up. "Until I told her we were going to see Haymitch soon, and he told me to do it to wake her up."

She was apparently all in after that.

Hazelle had sent Vick, who despite what Rory said, is the faster of the two, to warn Madge that her mother was safe and not to go to the Village again.

Now, as the sky burns, she can only hope he made it to her in time.

"Look, momma, the fireworks!" Posy squeals, pointing to the sky, at the flames reaching up to the heavens.

Picking her up, Hazelle kisses her cheek. "I see. You won didn't you?"

Posy nods, looking delighted with herself.

Rory has already run for the Seam, to start herding people to the fence, and with any luck, Vick and the girls will be joining him soon. Hazelle certainly hopes so.

"You should get going to the fence and wait for the miners Rory sends your way. Give them the instructions on how to get it down," Peeta tells her, a faint smile on his face. "I'll head for Town."

She nods.

"Matilda," he calls out, to where Madge's mother is watching the unnaturally bright sky with a look of wonder. "Matilda, go with Hazelle, okay?"

Drifting over, Matilda takes Peeta's hands. "It's very rude to throw water on people, and I don't think Haymitch told you to, but you're very sweet and I think you meant well, so I forgive you."

Peeta's lips twitch. "Thanks."

She smiles airily up at him before dropping his hands and letting her eyes float to Hazelle.

"It's a very strange night, isn't it Hazelle?"

Laughing, Hazelle nods. "Very strange."

Matilda's eyes close. "A good kind of strange though, I think."

Hazelle certainly hopes so.

"I don't like the sirens," Matilda says suddenly, her nose wrinkling up in distaste as she presses her fingers to her temples. "They make my head hurt. Do we have to go toward them?"

"Unfortunately," Hazelle replies before turning her anxious eyes back to Peeta. "Good luck."

He smiles.

"You too."

And with that he's gone, down the road toward Town.

"Do you have a weapon?" Matilda asks as she follows Hazelle, her steps so light and silent that Hazelle looks down and realizes she doesn't have any shoes on.

"I'm hoping to avoid a fight," Hazelle tell her. Though she does have a sock filled with rocks tucked into her skirts if she needs it.

Sighing, Matilda nods. "Me too, but sometimes it's unavoidable."

She reaches into a bag she has slung over her shoulder and pulls out a long dark rod. A crowbar.

Where she got it, Hazelle isn't sure. Matilda Undersee is full of surprises, fake Peacekeeper uniforms and makeshift weapons, and she's almost certain she doesn't want to know how she came by them.

Still…

"Where did you get that?"

"Haymitch," she replies, weighing it in her hands.

Hazelle can't stop herself. "And…the uniform?"

Matilda shrugs her voice wispy. "He won it in a poker game. Peeta said there might be trouble. What better to be during trouble than a Peacekeeper, right?"

It actually makes sense, and Hazelle can't help but smile. Matilda isn't nearly as dense as she'd always thought.

"I think you're right, Matilda," she laughs, eyes focused on the burning sky. "I think you're right."

Stopping, Matilda's eyes flutter up as she laughs. "That would be a first."


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.

Gale crosses his arms and stares unblinking into the headlights of the cars flying by.

Haymitch, drunk, dirty, asshole Haymitch, is Madge's blood. It's unbelievable.

Closing his eyes, Gale tries to find any ghosts of resemblance between Madge and Haymitch. He can't though. She only resembles her mother, and even the small differences, the brightness of her smile and the clearness of her eyes, don't connect her to Haymitch, at least not in Gale's mind.

There are other things though, that he supposes could be considered similar. The way they laugh or huff, roll their eyes. Their sense of humor, he supposes, is similar, and, much as he hates to admit it, Haymitch is smart. Madge might have gotten that from the bastard.

"Does Madge know?" He hears his dad ask, breaking his train of thought.

Alameda laughs. "No. That's a secret that's supposed to go to the grave."

"Then why are you telling us about it?" Gale grinds out.

He doesn't want this knowledge. How is he supposed to keep this a secret? Madge deserves to know. It's her life after all.

"Well, seeing as I don't think we're going to survive this little adventure I don't see the harm." She shrugs. "Still taking it to the grave."

Gale won't be. He's going to live, he's going to make it home to his family, with his dad and friends and even Haymitch. Maybe even especially Haymitch at this moment. He and Madge's mother need to be the ones to explain this mess to her, not Gale.

It makes it even more imperative that they save the jerk. Gale knows Madge, and if Haymitch dies and then she finds out the truth, she'll be devastated.

It had been important before, and it feels doubly so now.

"We need to create a distraction," he says, focusing his mind on the task at hand.

Alameda tilts her head and glances back at him. "You don't think a big ass building imploding behind the stage is a big enough distraction?"

Gale glares. "I need to get up to the stage before the explosion you idiot."

"Gale." His dad gives him a warning look.

Ignoring him, Alameda is probably already working in a comeback, Gale pulls himself forward between the seats again.

"There's got to be a back way up, right?"

She shakes her head. "Nope, Snow is very particular about security."

Grinding his teeth, Gale glares at her. "You want me to believe you're smart, well prove it. Help me figure this out."

She's the one that's been around this place and these people for years. She's the one that can spot the flaws in their system. She needs to help him.

For a second she's quiet, her eyes focused on the road. Then her eyebrows pull together and she glances I the rearview mirror.

"You love her, don't you? You aren't just trying to get in her pants?"

Gale doesn't even dignify that with a response, just narrows his eyes and scowls.

He's here isn't he? He's putting his and his family's lives on the line. Of course he loves her.

Expression hardening, Alameda guns the car, swerving around the person ahead of her and cutting across several lanes to a chorus of honks.

"Sit back and shut up then, Dorothy." She tightens her grip on the wheel. "'Cause I'm about to help you be a hero."

#######

Hazelle sets Posy down and pulls her thin coat a little tighter, trying to keep her daughter as warm as possible.

It's a useless effort, but Hazelle is desperate for a distraction.

Matilda's pale hand pushes a quilt in front of Hazelle's face, holding it there for several seconds.

"She can use this," she finally says.

Taking it, Hazelle nods, giving her a tight smile.

Posy grins, pulling the ancient looking thing close around her shoulders, looking to Matilda, her eyes dropping to the bag at her side. "What else do you have in your bag?"

An little smile flicks up on Matilda's lips and she drops down to her knees, pulling her bag in front of her and pulling it open.

Posy scoots closer, eyes wide as she waits for whatever clearly amazing things are about to be produced.

"It's just pictures," she tells Posy airily.

They're mostly of Madge. One of her when she was very small, playing under the Mayor's desk, another in the garden with an older man that Hazelle vaguely remembers as the old candy maker, Matilda's dad. Several of the others are school photos. They're all dulled with age and tattered at the edges.

"They're doubles!" Posy squeals, pointing to a pair of blonde girls.

Matilda nods. "My sister, Maysilee."

Hazelle remembers the last Quarter Quell, the one that had graced them with Haymitch Abernathy as their second Victor. Twice the tributes, twice the carnage, and in the Capitol's mind, twice the entertainment.

Forgetting it would be twice as hard.

She probably wouldn't remember Maysilee Donner, just the unlucky merchant girl that had allied with Haymitch, only to die minutes after breaking that alliance, but Matilda had etched her sister into Hazelle's mind.

She'd stood in the Square, day in and day out, missed class, just to watch her sister, a mirror image of herself, suffer through a game no one thought she had a chance of winning. Her sweet face, hazy eyes full of tears, had made her sister memorable to District Twelve, even if the rest of the country had forgotten her before her blood had even finished draining from her body.

People ridiculed her, to her face and behind her back, not even letting the fact that her sister, one of the few people who treated her decently, had been stolen from her. They'd laughed at her pain, at her loss, even though she'd never hurt anyone. Not even the fact that her dad, the old candy maker, was one of the kindest men in the District made a difference.

Matilda Donner had been odd, and that alone had earned her scorn, cost her the sympathy she so rightly deserved.

For a second Matilda stares at the photo sadly, lost in her own thoughts, before Posy drags her back to reality.

"Where is she?"

The picture slips from Matilda's fingers, drifting back to her bag gently, before she sighs.

"Gone."

She doesn't elaborate, just smiles sadly at the next photo in her hand.

"Who are they?" Posy asks, moving on from Maysilee Donner, to the picture of another family.

It takes Hazelle a second to recognize the boy in the photo, despite the fact that the smirk on his face hasn't changed in twenty-five years.

The Haymitch in the photo is younger, dark haired and adorable, maybe a little younger than Posy, sitting next to dark haired woman cradling a baby, all in front of a somber faced man. Haymitch's family.

"That's Haymitch," Matilda tells her, pulling out another photo, one of Haymitch and a boy Hazelle now recognizes as his brother. "That's Graeme, his brother."

Posy nods. "Is he gone too?"

With a small smile, Matilda nods.

She lets the rest of the photos fall back into the bag.

Hazelle sighs, looking away from them and back toward the now dark District.

She wishes she had pictures of her children like Matilda does. Mementos of when they'd been small. There are school pictures, but she and Asher had never been able to afford them. Any that might exist will be destroyed soon, she thinks bitterly.

There are no wedding photos for her and Asher, no baby pictures of any of her children, no printed memories of Asher or her parents, their siblings, nothing.

For a second she wishes Matilda didn't have any either. It isn't fair that when this ends, she'll be the only one with proof her family ever existed.

As quickly as the thought forms, it disintegrates.

Matilda only has pictures. Hazelle has her family still, and Matilda has lost almost all of hers.

She can't begrudge her a few slips of paper.

"Keep your eyes open," Hazelle tells them, hoping to distract them from the pictures. "When people start coming, we need to be ready."

For whatever comes next.

#######

Madge beats the others to the edge of town.

Sweat is dripping from her hair, making her clothes cling to her uncomfortably and sending a chill to surround her despite the warmth of the evening.

There's a dull hum growing, people coming into the street to investigate the siren and the loss of electricity.

"Katniss," Madge huffs, trying to catch her breath, wiping droplets of perspiration from her face, smearing it messily, "you and Vick go to the Seam and try to get everyone moving. Delly and I will work on the Town."

Vick shakes his head.

"I'm not leaving you," he tells her. "You're Gale's girlfriend, your family, I can't leave you."

Madge blinks, tears almost fighting their way out the corners of her eyes.

She's family. The fact that he considers her that, that he feels the need to treat her like a sister, refusing to leave her side, is too much. This is all her fault, after all. His life is being pulled apart at the seams because of her, she doesn't deserve his loyalty.

Pulling him into a hug, Madge takes a deep breath. "It's going to be okay. We need to split up though, understand?"

It's the only way to get as many people out as possible.

For a few seconds he just holds onto her, sniffling and letting his tears seep through her dress, before he pulls back.

Vick wipes his eyes, sniffs again, then nods. He looks up and gives her a brave smile. "Be careful."

"You too."

With that and another small smile, he's gone, trailing after Katniss to the Seam.

Turning back to Delly, Madge wipes her cheeks and forces her face into a determined expression.

"We need to get to the Square," she tells her. "There's a megaphone at the Justice Building that runs on batteries we can use it to give everyone directions."

And get their voices over the blaring scream of the siren.

Delly nods. "What's one more crime on this spree, right?"

Madge grins. "That's the spirit."

#######

Asher stares at the girl across from him as Gale makes a disbelieving sound.

"You had a plan to save everyone-"

"Some people," she corrects. "Finnick and Annie, old Mags, Cecilia, the other Victors from my District, that's it."

She's collaborated with one, drugged another, and bribed traffic officials to stage a wreck to keep the rest trapped on the other side of the city.

But she's clearly got designs on saving others too, or at least now she does.

"I owe some of them," she admits. "But I couldn't get too many out. I had to make a choice."

"Because of Wiress?"

She's pretty adamant about the Victors needing to be cleansed from the country, apparently. Asher can't imagine her being too receptive to Phoebe's little rescue plan.

Phoebe shrugs. "Wiress knows me. I'm sure she expects me to pull something stupid."

Like this, clearly.

"But she hasn't tried to stop you?" Gale asks, eyebrows pulled together tightly and his mouth in a deep frown.

If Wiress suspects her minion is going against the grain, Asher can't imagine her not trying to put a stop to it.

"She's got a lot on her plate," she says simply. "But I'm sure she's made contingency plans against my moves. It's part of the game."

A game that clearly only they understand. How they know who the enemy is when they're playing against each other, Asher isn't sure, and he honestly isn't sure he wants to know.

He likes his friends as his friends and his enemies at arm's length.

"You're nuts," Gale grumbles.

"You aren't wrong," she chirps back.

Asher couldn't agree more.

Over the last few minutes, after telling them how she'd saved her friends, she'd come up with something that can only be called a plan by the vaguest of terms.

"Okay, listen close because I'm not repeating myself," she'd began, biting her lip, clearly thinking hard. "When we get there we locate the honor guards, they'll be in fancy, elaborate uniforms, probably-"

"Why?"

She glared at Gale in the mirror. "What did I say about shutting up?"

For a second Gale had looked like he was going to say something, but when he caught the warning look Asher shot him his mouth snapped shut.

"We find the honor guard because they'll be the easiest to get the weapons from. They're Capitol kids. Pampered. I'll herd a couple away from the group and we'll get their weapons, then..."

She'd faltered, grinding her teeth. "...then we work our way to the front, and then...wait for the explosion, not before...then we'll have to cover ourselves against the Peacekeepers, because they'll be going crazy, then, maybe, we can get on stage and pull Haymitch off. Maybe."

"That's a lot of 'maybes'," Asher pointed out.

She shrugged. "You want my help or not? I'm pretty good at this. I've made it this far haven't I?"

Gale had just glared at her. "You lied to us. You were planning on this all along, weren't you?"

Phoebe huffed, her hands tightening on the wheel.

"No, believe it or not. If I'd planned this all along I'd have a gun already, Dorothy."

Crossing his arms, Gale had clenched his jaw, letting out a long breath. Clearly he didn't believe her.

Asher had though, he does.

She's sharp, he had no doubt she could come up with a plan on the fly. Especially one with as many glaring problems as the one she'd just laid out.

From what Asher remembers, she didn't win her games by being the strongest. There'd been fights, and she'd sought them out in a few instances, but that isn't what saved her. She'd been lucky, been overlooked, then been the last one standing. It had been a game of attrition, one that the Capitol hadn't wanted a cannibal to win.

She's a survivor, and it's those instincts that he's pinning his hope on.

Asher isn't sure if Gale believes her or not, but he's calmed down at least, which will make the next steps easier.

"Just follow my lead when we get there," she tells them.

"Why?" Gale huffs. "I can make something up just as well as you can."

Phoebe snorts. "Right, sure, you just try it." She shakes her head. "I've been reshuffling plans that have gone off the rails for years. But if you think my experience isn't useful then by all means, you just try to get through this without me."

Asher quickly shakes his head, glancing over at the still defiantly glaring Gale. They need her and what she knows about the Capitol if they want even the slimmest chance to make it out of this.

It isn't just their lives they're gambling with either. One wrong move and the Capitol knows what they're planning. Their family back in Twelve won't have time to get out.

Everything is balanced on a wire, and even if Gale doesn't like her, Phoebe is the best chance they have at not snapping that wire too soon, setting off this trap before it's ready.

"No, Phoebe, please."

Asher gives Gale a warning look, and after several seconds, his son lets out a long, irritable breath.

"Fine."

It isn't an apology, but she seems to accept it nonetheless.

Smiling brightly, she cuts across traffic again.

"Good," she chirps. "Then hold on boys, things are about to get wild."

#######

Madge outpaces Delly by several yards, taking corners ahead of her and glancing back every few seconds to make sure her ally hasn't passed out.

Skidding, Madge loses her footing and ends up sliding into several empty pots outside the backdoor of the apothecary.

Delly comes barreling down the alley a few seconds later, nearly tripping over her feet as she tries to stop for Madge.

"What are you doing down there?" She asks, looking truly perplexed.

'Thought I'd take a nap' almost slips out of Madge's mouth, but she catches it before it does. She doesn't want to upset her.

Clumsily, Delly starts to help Madge up, but freezes, her expression tight.

"Do you hear that?"

Tilting her ear, Madge quickly hears the sound of humming. Voices at the front side of the store. She'd missed them earlier over her running and the blood thrumming through her ears.

"Come on!" She shouts, pushing herself up and tripping her way around the building.

There are hundreds of people, all milling around, looking toward the sound of the siren and holding candles to stave off the growing darkness.

Sucking in her breath, Madge starts toward them.

She freezes though.

What is she supposed to say to them? Will they even listen? She's just a girl, and a wild looking one at that. There's no reason for them to listen to her.

"Everyone, RUN!" Delly starts yelling, red faced and exhausted. "They're going to bomb us! Run!"

No one moves though.

Finally, Madge feels the air race back into her lungs, stinging and cool.

"Didn't you hear her?" She begins, her voice shaking. "Run! The Capitol is going to-"

Something solid and blunt comes into contact with her face, causing starbursts to fill her eyes and her cheek to burn.

She's knocked off her feet, tumbling down to the rough ground, catching herself on her palms.

"What are you talking about?" The Peacekeeper snaps. "Troublemaker. Trying to start a riot?"

"She isn't," Delly tells him, her face still reddened and her eyes shining. She turns on the spot, looking desperately at the people around, watching with morbid curiosity. "She isn't lying! They're coming! Madge blew up the electric house, she took out the power so we can escape!"

Oh…probably not the best thing to tell him.

The Peacekeeper's lips curl up and he smiles cruelly down at Madge. "You did that?" His gun clicks. "Shouldn't've done that, princess."

He raises the gun, pointing it at Madge's head. He could execute her and not get so much as a slap on the wrist, and for a second, that's exactly what she thinks he's going to do.

Then Delly's blue skirt swooshes in front of her face and the Peacekeeper is thrown to the ground, her knee in his middle and her forearm against his neck.

"You. Aren't. Very. Gentlemanly." She grunts, punctuating each word with a hard hit that Madge thinks would've made her father proud.

Finally, his eyes roll back and he goes limp, his lip busted and sporting two black-eyes.

No one moves, too shocked by normally sweet Delly's sudden outburst.

The second Peacekeeper makes a noise, fussing with his gun, but drops it when Delly looks up from her spot on his friend and snarls, causing him to run off. Probably to get reinforcements.

Just as suddenly as she'd snapped, Delly is back on her feet, dusting herself off and turning, already fussing over Madge's face.

"You're going to have a black-eye," she frets, tears filling her eyes. "Oh that was uncalled for."

Madge is on the verge of asking her just where that outburst had come from, when a thunder of feet come back around the corner and down the street.

"You attacked a Peacekeeper?" A surly man, one of the commanding officers, asks a tall boy.

The question is barely asked when the boy points to Delly, shaking his head. "She did it!"

He looks at Delly, now standing with her hands clutched to her chest and her eyes wide, and snorts. "A little girl? You expect me to believe that," he gestures in disgust at Delly, "took down a highly trained Peacekeeper?"

A burst of laughter fills the air and he turns back to his group, clearly expecting reciprocation.

What he gets is the butt of a gun to the nose.

Crimson burst from his face as he swears, holding his spurting nose and groping for his gun.

The girl, dark skinned and bright eyed, watches him in amusement. "This little girl just took you down, sweetie."

She kicks out her foot, catching him around the ankle and sending him to the ground.

Stunned, Madge looks at the rest of the group.

About half of them have their guns up, but they aren't pointed at the rebellious girl. They're pointed at the other half of their group.

"Listen well, children," the girl begins. "You got two choices. Either you do as I say and we let you live, or you keep your loyalty to the Capitol and get a bullet in your heads." She smiles pleasantly. "Choice is yours."

Only half a second passes before the remaining Peacekeepers drop their guns to the ground and raise their hands.

"Good choice."

While the others are securing their prisoners, the girl walks over to Madge and Delly, eyeing the downed Peacekeeper.

"Damn." She looks at Delly, impressed. "Damn."

"Excuse me," Madge finally finds her voice. "But who are you?"

A bright smile stretches on the girl's face as she holds out her hand. "Katy-Jo Lewes. We're here to help."


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.

The girl, Katy something, gives her helmet, which she'd apparently tossed off before hitting the Peacekeeper, a hard kick. It skitters across the ground, making a scraping noise before colliding with the brick of the building.

She looks down at the whimpering commander, rolling her eyes.

"Birdy figured you could handle everything but these idiots here," she explains, looking up with a smile. "So here we are."

"But how?" Madge asks.

It makes no sense. They're clearly not from Twelve, and there's no way for them to get in. It's suspicious, worrisome.

"We really don't have time for story time, sweetie."

Madge bites her tongue. They really don't. For all she knows the Capitol is already sending bombers their way. Her questions will have to wait. She's going to have to go on faith, something she's never been very good at doing.

"We going, Katy-Jo Lewes?" A boy asks, wrapping something shiny around one of the real Peacekeeper's hands. "Working on borrowed time here."

The girl's head tilts, a dozen braids shift, tumbling over her shoulder as she waits for Madge's answer.

There isn't a choice, at least not as far as Madge can see. Birdy's helpers are here, how will have to wait.

Hoping her expression is braver than she feels, Madge nods.

"Good," the girl sighs, turning and gesturing for Madge and Delly to follow her. "We've already got some of our people helping the kid on the other part of the district. We were just having to lay low until we found you."

Madge jogs to keep up with her much longer strides, still piecing together just what exactly is happening, as she remembers Peeta.

"One of my friends, he's dressed as a Peacekeeper too."

Stopping, the girl pulls a boxy looking contraption from her side. "Be on the lookout for-" She gives Madge a look, "what's your boy's name?"

"Peeta," Madge quickly supplies. "Peeta Mellark."

"Peeta Mellark," Katy-whatever says into the box. "Probably off on his own. He's one of us."

Madge still feels a burning sense of anxiety in her stomach. Peeta is in the dark and dressed as the enemy, if anything happens to him, it's Madge's fault.

Noticing Madge's tight expression, palpable agitation, the girl stops and gives her a soft smile.

"Don't worry, sweetie. My people won't hurt him. We knew something fishy was going on when someone we didn't know showed up at the foreman's office." She places a warm, thin hand on Madge's shoulder. "It's all gonna be okay. Hard part's over. You got the electricity off, and once we get everyone rounded up, we can be out of here and into the woods before you can say 'boo'."

That isn't as much a comfort as it's clearly meant to be. Their little escapade, which had been filled with holes to begin with, is only slightly more likely to work with the addition of whatever help Birdy has managed to supply.

"Don't look so grim," she adds before looking at the other 'Peacekeepers', now guarding the real ones. "Alright, boys, Jobe and Austin are in charge of taking these," she gestures to the real Peacekeepers, "to the fence. Shoot any of them that so much as looks at you funny. Katy-Jo Marsen and Jessup, you both take a group and spread out, we haven't got much time to clear this place."

The others nod, clearly understanding their instructions, before running off.

"Budge out," one of the burly men left in charge of the real Peacekeepers grunts.

"And remember, boss over there gave us the okay to shoot anyone that gets out of line," the other tells them, patting his gun as he does.

All of their helmets are off, and without them, most of the captured Peacekeepers look like nothing more than frightened kids, not much older than Madge and Delly.

One has pockmarks and another has her hair braided in pigtails, childish, young. Madge almost feels sorry for them.

"You won't hurt them, will you?" She asks before she can really think about the question.

Katy-Jo whatever smiles. "Of course not."

Madge isn't so sure she believes her, but there's no time to prod her further.

Shaking all thoughts of the Peacekeepers away, Madge turns her back to them. They'd chosen to become Peacekeepers. They'd picked this life, and unlike Madge and everyone in Twelve, they'd grown up wanting to either go into the Games or be lap dogs to the Capitol. That's what she tells herself anyway.

She doesn't hate them for that, they're surviving just like everyone else, but she can't worry about them right now. Her mind and energy have to be focused on saving as many people as she can. Gale and Mr. Abernathy are counting on her too, they're putting their lives on the line for it.

"What do we need to do?" She asks.

Delly nods, crossing her arms, clearly ready for whatever task she's assigned.

The Katy-Jo's smile widens. "Follow me, girls."

#######

Gale grunts as the car slams to a stop, knocking his knee into the middle consult painfully.

"You," he growls as he pushes up and crawls out of the backseat, his pant leg catching on something as he does, "are a shitty driver."

Alameda shrugs. "So says you."

So would anyone that rode with her, he thinks irritably.

Cursing under his breath, Gale follows her and his dad up the street.

Much as he tries not to, Gale can't help but take in the sight of the city. It really is amazing.

Evening has settled, but it's only noticeable by the fact that the lights are burning brighter and neon all around them. Dazzling colors flash and move, beckoning patrons in with the promise of fun and money and food.

People are stumbling around, laughing and drunk, dressing in wild colors, feathers, fur, and something shimmering. Sparkling in sequins and glowing in fluorescents, their clothes sear Gale's eyes, making them water.

He hears cheering and turns, finding a group of people through a wide opening, inside one of the enormous buildings, all huddled around a table. A cool breeze of air ruffles his own strange clothes and hair, freezing him on the spot as he watches them.

They're all smiling madly, their faces painted in bizarre fashions. Like the terrifying clowns Gale had seen in a book at the library once.

Deafening chimes, buzzing and clinking, mix with laughter and yells, mesmerizing him.

Something tugs at his arm, gently at first, then a little more incessantly. Finally, something hits his neck, yanking some hair out.

"Ow!"

Turning, he rubs his neck and scowls.

His dad has his arms crossed, shaking his head, eyes closed in exasperation.

Alameda, however, looks positively cheerful, a hank of Gale's hair gripped in her hand.

"I'll bring you back to the casino and beat your ass at poker later, Dorothy. Right now we gotta run."

She opens her hand, dark hair catching in the cool breeze coming from the casino, scattering in the air.

Still scowling, Gale follows her, his dad shooting him a cross look as he passes.

"Don't get distracted," he tells him, as he steps beside Gale, matching him step for step.

"I won't." He was only looking.

Shaking his head and the glitter from his mind, Gale keeps his eyes on Alameda's awful shoes, several inches tall, green, and painful looking. They click with each step, though the sound is muted by the din of voices, laughter, games, and glasses toasting.

They walk what feels to be several miles, through the reverie, until Alameda turns sharply, down a small alley.

It narrows and sinks several feet, the lights from the casinos dull and the echoes of excitement die behind them, fade to nothingness as the venture farther away. Finally, it comes to an end and a grated door where warm, unpleasant air wafts through. Alameda pulls at it for several seconds before it screeches open.

As Gale steps through the door, he's plunged into darkness.

It smells of something musty, wet, decaying, and unwashed bodies.

His shoes squish unpleasantly under him and as he squints into the darkness, and as his eyes adjust to it, he sees several figures moving along the sides.

While he's studying them, trying to figure out just where the hell their crazy guide has dragged them, his dad lets out a long breath.

"Avoxes."

Alameda nods, just barely discernible. "Don't worry about them. They'll like seeing the Capitol fall as much as anyone."

Getting your tongue cut out apparently does little to endear a government to you.

She leads them through the underground, twisting and turning.

It should worry him, being trapped in the underground, but it doesn't. The Capitol's tunnels, passages, whatever they are, are wide and tall, with poor lighting from little dying bulbs placed sporadically along the ground, and filled with the stench of garbage and body odor, are far removed from the mines of Twelve, which are cramped and claustrophobic, smell of earth and sulfur. He isn't sure which he prefers.

Finally, she comes to a stop, Gale nearly running into her.

"Watch it, Dorothy," she whispers.

Her talon finger points up and Gale's gaze follows.

Above them, near the wall, and the end of a slimy looking ladder, is a door with the word "Lupanar"' stamped across it.

Before Gale can ask what 'Lupanar' means, she's on the ladder, gesturing for them to follow her.

A few minutes later and they're standing in what looks to be a storage room. It's filled to the ceiling with boxes, all labeled with names Gale doesn't recognize. It's just as badly lit, but it smells better.

They follow Alameda a little further, through the maze of boxes, which are being shuffled and removed by avoxes, until they step through another plain door.

"Where are we?" He hears his dad's raspy voice ask.

Wherever it is, it's unlike anywhere they've been already.

The ceiling is painted an unsettling sky blue, accented with serene clouds and populated by colorful, unidentifiable birds. They move, fly across the expanse of blue and perch on the sides. They're so detailed that if Gale didn't know better, he'd believe they were real and not some Capitol fabrication.

The walls are all painted a deep red, delicate threads of glittering gold running from the top to the bottom, and they instantly make Gale think of a bloody waterfall.

Shaking the thought away, he listens to Alameda.

"Brothel."

Gale almost hears his dad's jaw drop.

"A-"

"Brothel, yeah." She waves them off. "Come on."

They follow her through the hall, ignoring the incongruous sound of running water that floats around them, completely at odds with what is likely going on behind the gilded doors around them.

A man, maybe his dad's age, appears, pushing a cart stacked high with teacups and tall, golden kettles.

His thick eyebrows arch up and he picks up a small cup, offering it to them.

"No thanks," she gently pushes the cup back towards him. "I need an empty room. Preferably near the front."

He smiles, severe lines forming around his mouth, before pointing her down another hall.

With a nod, Alameda takes off, leaving the old avox to his duties.

The hall is the same as the last, and Gale would almost think they'd circled back if not for the fact that he can still hear the clinking of the avox's cart behind him.

Abruptly, Alameda stops, reaching for a door. Gale catches her, glaring.

"How do you know it's, you know, not 'occupied'?"

Rolling her eyes, she points to the ceiling above them. "No birds."

Sure enough, unlike the other doors, no birds are perched on the golden moldings above the door. They're avoiding it, fairly obviously.

Without another word, she pushes the door open and steps through.

It's cool, pleasantly so. There's a small fountain in the corner, an odd looking white statue spouting crystal waters over itself and down into the small pool around it, which Gale slowly realizes, is a tub.

The bed is veiled, sheer black curtains draped around the silken looking comforter that's stacked with fluffy, comfortable looking pillows.

"You two stay here," Alameda tells them. "I'll be back."

Not bothering to explain herself, she vanishes back through the door, leaving Gale and his dad in uncomfortable silence.

Much as he'd like to sit on the bed or take a closer look at the fountain, the knowledge of just what kind of establishment they're in dampening his curiosity.

Finally, his dad sighs.

"When we tell this story," he starts, glancing around at the room, "we leave this part out."

Gale nods. He couldn't agree more.

#######

Haymitch tugs at the awkward tie Wiress had insisted he wear.

"And you'll want this umbrella," she'd added as they rode to the Presidential Mansion to prepare for the announcement. "It looks like rain."

He'd rolled his eyes at that. Little as he knew about weather, he knew there was no rain forecasted. This is another of her control things, he's sure of it.

Still, it gives him a posh kind of air, so he decides to keep it.

Beetee was already there when they arrive, fussing with cords and microphones, directing underlings, that help him as well as watch him, to do this or that.

"Oh good, Wiress got you the umbrella," he said cheerfully. "I brought one too. Looks like rain."

After than, Haymitch held onto his stupid umbrella a little tighter. Clearly it had more use than just keeping him dry, if that was its intended purpose at all.

They stand around, surveying the layout, undoubtedly for Wiress to better gage the scope of the disaster she's conducting, before ushers come around to herd them toward their seats.

They're placed on the front row, perfect viewing of the fall of the Capitol, if everything goes as planned.

Wiress hands him something small, that at first he thinks is a button, but then a light flickers from its center and a list, complete with colored pictures, forms in front of him.

"Oh good, they got the 'Carmens'," Haymitch mutters, rolling his eyes. "I can die happy now."

"Your age is showing," Chaff laughs. "Jo and Finn love them."

Haymitch doesn't give a shit what Finnick and Johanna love. His last few minutes are going to be wasted listening to screaming idiots and that's the greatest insult of them all.

Shifting in his seat, he turns, looking for more sensible company.

He spots Johanna, Enobaria, and the golden siblings, but while he sees plenty of other Victors settling down, all looking irritable, several are distinctly missing.

Mags and Finnick, Cecilia, and all of Ten's nuisances are absent.

"Where's your little spy?" He finally asks when it becomes clear Bird hasn't even made an appearance.

"She's coming. Probably had some trouble with Finnick."

"Trouble?"

Wiress nods. "She wanted to save a few of our less horrible kin."

Haymitch feels his irritated expression slip into confusion. "What?"

Waving a hand, Wiress huffs. "She had a little plan to keep a few of us away. I told her if she could pull it off without assistance she was welcome to it. Since she did, I had no choice but to let her carry through, especially since it didn't affect my plans."

Grunting, Haymitch settles a little deeper in his seat. He doesn't know if he'd have made Bird's list of people to save if Wiress hadn't made keeping him near a priority, but he doubts it. He hasn't exactly been a prince to her. Chaff might have, but Haymitch is pretty sure he'd have been left off.

Minutes tick by as people trickle, then flood, into the area around the stage, settling noisily around in the thousands of seats set up especially for the event.

After almost half an hour of waiting, a harried man, dressed in a colorful outfit designating him a presidential assistant, half runs to them, sweat dripping down his strangely modified face.

"It's almost time to begin," he squeaks, "and there are still several Victors missing. Where are they?"

Wiress doesn't even lift her eyes from her floating program to look at him.

"Not my department," she answers coolly.

"It is mine, though," a high voice, though firm and steady, says from behind them.

Turning, Haymitch sees Bird directly behind him, standing between his seat and the empty one in the second row.

She's in her green again, though she's a little shiny, glistening, and he can't tell if she's put some fancy Capitol glow spray on or is sweating.

"There was an accident on the via," she explains, walking around and snatching the button projector from Haymitch's hand. "It's keeping several people from arriving on time." Her lips turn up in a wicked grin. "We can't control traffic now, can we?"

Something about her, or maybe everything, puts him on edge and he hastily nods.

"And Odair, well, you know how he is around 'party favors'." She snorts. "He's passed out. Again. I doubt President Snow would want him here in the fits of a high."

Still looking uncomfortable, the assistant nods as he backs away, almost tripping over his own feet before running off, presumably to tell President Snow about the unfortunate news.

Wiress sighs, her eyes still focused on the program. "Idiot."

"You gonna sit with us, Bird?" Chaff asks, patting the seat next to him.

She gives him a tight, closed smile. "Not just yet. I'm still attending to some details."

Wiress, whose eyes have moved to the stage, frowns. "Those being?"

"Nothing to worry about," she replies, turning to leave. "I just had to come collect some supplies."

Moments later, as Wiress is at the stage discussing speaker placement with Beetee, Haymitch watches Bird chatting up a pair of young honor guards, clearly up to something.

He looks away, to ask Chaff what he thinks she's up to, but when they turn back, she's gone, the honor guards with her.

"Probably for the best we don't know what she's up to," Chaff sighs.

Nodding, Haymitch flops around, back toward the stage.

There are ugly, strangely modified flowers mixed into the gaudy decorations, their sickly sweet scent mixing with the smell of food floating in from the casinos only blocks away.

Closing his eyes, he imagines himself back home, a place he'll never see again.

Matilda would have hot chocolate made, and would probably be sitting in front of the fireplace, making popcorn. Madge would be curled up on the couch, working on homework, though why she ever bothered he doesn't know. She was never going to have to get a job or work a day in her life if he had anything to say about it. School was a pointless exercise for her.

"Just because you don't think I'll need it, doesn't mean I won't," she always told him. "Besides, what else is there to do?"

He didn't think she wouldn't need it, he knew she wouldn't.

It had been his silent promise to her and Matilda, after Daniel had died, that he'd take care of them, make sure nothing bad ever happened to them ever again.

He's failed them, more times than he likes to remember, since he made that promise. His only hope is that this last attempt to keep them safe succeeds. He wants his last effort to at least be the one that gets them out from under the thumb of the people who'd put them through hell all those years ago.

Inhaling deeply, he can almost smell lilac and sugar, though they're textured differently than they are at home. Just another reminder that even if he finds something familiar to cling to, it will still be tainted by the Capitol.

"Almost show time," Wiress tells him and Chaff as she looks down at her watch. She stands, dusting nonexistent debris from her dark clothes. "Chaff, I believe they'll want you to introduce Thresh."

Nodding, Chaff gets up, looking around for their newest initiate. When he spots him, being chatted up by a very drunk looking Cashmere, he rushes to the boys aide.

"I'll be back," Wiress tells him before disappearing, probably to discuss something dull with Beetee to keep up appearances.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Haymitch slumps in his chair and closes his eyes again. His last moments might as well be pleasant, and nothing is more pleasant than a nap and dreams of home.

#######

Hazelle isn't sure what to do when the first group arrives from the Seam, followed by several Peacekeepers being guarded by other Peacekeepers.

"We're friends," the man, dark skinned with gray, wiry hair, tells her. "Sent from Ten to help get everyone out and neutralize the Peacekeepers."

The man, he tells her his name is Jefferson, quickly has the Peacekeepers, the real ones apparently, seated and quieted before he leads a group of miners to the fence. After studying a tattered piece of paper for several seconds, he points to spots along the fence.

"Take your picks and start at it," he yells, grinning as the men move toward the fence.

Posy watches in wonder as the picks rise and fall, quickly unsettling the fence. It takes only a few minutes more and several yards of wire and barbs come tumbling down, crashing noisily into the trees in the woods behind them.

Clapping, Posy looks back at Hazelle. "Look momma, the fence is gone."

Forcing a smile, Hazelle nods, then turns back to Jefferson.

"You were in the Seam?" She begins, trying to keep the panic from her voice. "My sons were there, trying to evacuate everyone. Did you see them?"

It's a ridiculous question, he doesn't know what Vick or Rory look like and even if the District is small, he probably didn't see them.

Still, the thought of them crossing paths with real Peacekeepers while in the middle of highly illegal activity made not asking an impossibility.

He gives her a small smile.

"If you're worried about them getting caught, don't. We had enough of us mixed in to keep anything from happening."

It's a small comfort, very small, but she forces a smile anyways.

Picking up Posy, Hazelle carries her to where Matilda is standing, watching the miners work with muted curiosity.

"I don't think I'll like the woods," she comments dully.

Looking toward the tangle of dormant trees and leafless scrub, Hazelle can't help but agree.

It's forbidding, cold and dark, full of deadly beasts.

Still, if Asher and Gale could brave it week after week, divine food and life from its depths, Hazelle knows she can too.

There's no choice but to.

Shifting Posy on her hip, she gives Matilda's sleeve a tug.

"Let's go watch for the kids," she tells her, moving away from the shelter of the trees near the fence.

She may have to venture into the unknown, but not without her children.

#######

Asher stands stiffly, waiting for Phoebe to come back and trying not to imagine what has happened in the room they're standing in, while Gale wanders around.

He's careful not to touch anything, just leans in, inspecting everything from the bubbling fountain in the enormous bath to the bizarre artwork hanging on the walls. For a moment he'd looked like he might reach out and feel the fabric of the comforter, but his hand froze before he did.

Finally, after what feels like a growing eternity, the door opens.

Instead of Phoebe, two boys, maybe sixteen or seventeen, step in, both looking very confused from under the visors on their helmets.

They stare, first at Gale and then at Asher, their mouths dangling open, before they open their mouths to speak.

Whatever question they're about to ask is cut short as their eyes roll back and they collapse to the tile at their feet.

Behind them is Phoebe, looking down at the pair. She doesn't seem particularly concerned as she steps over them before turning back and crouching down, grabbing them by the wrists and pulling further into the room. They make a strange squeaking noise as they're slowly dragged across the tile.

"A little help might be nice" she grunts, her heels slipping and sending her to her bottom with the echoes of flesh on polished marble.

Gale snorts, unable to hide his amusement at her predicament.

Uncertain if she's killed them or just knocked them out with some magic Capitol potion, Asher takes a step to them, reaching down and hauling her to her feet with a jerk.

"Are they...dead?"

She huffs, straightening her dress. "No, but I've taught them a valuable lesson about taking candy from strangers. Even if the stranger is on tv."

Remembering when she'd mentioned knocking out the guards on the train, what felt like a lifetime ago, he assumes she must've done something similar to the boys.

Once they're in the middle of the room, she starts pulling their shoes, and then pants, off, tossing them at the horrorstruck Asher and Gale.

"Put these on. These two look about your sizes, but I was mostly going for gullible."

It finally clicks, both for Asher and, apparently, Gale.

"We're gonna impersonate them?" Gale frowns, his thick eyebrow knitting together as he considers the strange clothing now in his hands.

"Good for you, finally learning to put two and two together and get four," Phoebe grumbles, fighting the shirt off one of the boys. "You might even be able to read a whole sentence without taking a break someday."

Gale makes a rude gesture behind her back, though he doesn't seem aware Asher has seen it.

Stomping off, Gale slams the door to the toilet closed, Asher supposes to change behind.

Looking around, Asher decides to wait for his son to come out before changing. Phoebe has already said she's seen it all, but he still wants some privacy.

"What are we going to do with them?" He asks, nodding toward the boys, now in a boneless pile on an oddly striped rug in the middle of the room, clothed only in their underwear.

She waves a hand. "They'll be fine. This is well outside the blast zone and with the dose I have them they should wake up right about the time the party's starting. Plenty of time to get away."

Asher certainly hopes so. They may be spoiled kids from the Capitol, but they are just that. Kids. He can't handle the thought of leaving them to die.

"You're sure?"

She rolls her eyes. "Positive. Believe it or not I'm not someone that kills for fun. If it's necessary I'll do it, but it's not something I go out of my way to do. It's gonna be fine."

Staring at her, Asher sighs.

Her expression and her voice are painfully familiar. Steady and self-assured, just like Olive's had been when she'd gone out each night to help the family after their dad had died.

She'd come back each morning, before Asher and Levi had left for school, cleaned herself up and lied to them about where the food she put in their lunches came from.

"Don't worry about it," she'd tell them, always with a smile.

"I don't want you to get hurt, sissy," Asher remembers telling her, right before she'd been sent off.

Ruffling his hair, Olive had laughed. "It's gonna be fine, Ash."

That had been the biggest lie of all. As certain as he is that Phoebe's words are lies too, he nods.

Just like with Olive, there's no choice but to let the lie stand.

The door to the toilet rattles then opens, and Gale steps out.

The honor guard uniform fits him better than the ragged avox one he'd had to wear first, and even the dully colored mish mash he'd picked for himself at the hotel didn't hang quite right.

Despite the fact that the uniform is bright blue, it seems much more dignified, more suited to Gale.

The pants are dark and the shirt is a crisp white, and over that is a long, royal blue coat, decorated with silver pins, that hangs below the tops of his dark, heavy heeled boots.

"It's hot," he complains.

"It's winter, you'll be cold soon enough," Phoebe tells him as she walks around him, inspecting the uniform. She shrugs. "It'll do."

Going back to the door, she picks up the guns and hands one to Gale. "Don't shoot your eye out."

He gives her a filthy look before he goes to examining the gun.

Phoebe jerks her thumb toward the bathroom. "Your turn, Asher. When you get out I'll give you the quick and dirty on how to not shoot yourself by accident."

Nodding, Gale might be good with a bow, but neither one of them has any idea how to use a firearm, Asher heads for the bathroom.

It's now or never. He's survived years of escaping the confines of his District and the wilds, he can survive this. It's going to be fine.

He hopes he isn't lying to himself.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.

They follow Alameda through the empty halls, their boots making soft scuffing sounds as they do and her heels clicking, echoing noisily, off the walls.

It's unnerving, how quiet it is. The hairs on the back of Gale's neck stand up, both from the chill and the conspicuous lack of noise.

There should be laughter, moans, something, but there isn't. The only apparent life is the brightly colored birds flittering around the ceiling, resting over occupied rooms and preening themselves.

The hall finally ends, opening into an enormous room. Just like the halls, the high ceiling is painted as the sky, unlike the halls, there are only lazy clouds drifting across it. Not a bird in sight.

"Heads down," Alameda whispers, her expression frozen in a smile as they cut across the room.

A man, his face is a mess, horrid feathers are woven into his eyebrows, red and gold, and he's dyed his mustache accordingly, yells to them from behind a long, dark colored desk.

"Yoohoo, Ms. Phoebe!"

His voice is much deeper than Gale expects, more mature than his outfit and makeup imply.

"Finished already?"

Her smile never faltering and her steps don't slow as she waves him off.

"I told you," she yells back, not even bothering to look at him, "I'm working a job. If you and the other concierges would bother reporting off when you switch you'd know the intricacies. You know how I feel about repeating myself."

She lies so smoothly that Gale wonders if she'd always done it so flawlessly or if years in the Capitol had made it a necessity. Maybe they'd only honed an already sharp trait.

The man's mouth snaps shut, apparently knowing how she feels about repeating herself. He busies himself with a feathered quill, scratching away on the desk and keeping his eyes away from the group.

Seconds later, Alameda pushes through a pair of gilded doors and out into the night.

Gale's eyes, which had adjusted to the calm bright, sting as they're hit by the obnoxious lights that suddenly surround him.

After a few moments of blinking, trying to refocus, he finally gets a good look at what's around him.

It's as if he's walked through different levels of hell and finally arrived at the center.

It isn't the place, which might almost be considered serene. There are enormous shrubs, trimmed and shaped into various animals, Gale can only identify about half of them, and huge fountains spurting colored waters into the air, letting it fall like a delicate rain back down to the pools below. They're so large Gale imagines he might be able to fit his entire family's house inside.

The people, however, are just as awful as the ones he's left behind, possibly worse.

They're twice as gaudy, twice as bejeweled and feathered. Dresses and suits are made of wild, exotic patterns, and some people are even walking what look to be genetically modified animals through the crowd.

"Where are we?" He asks.

"The City Circle," she answers, pointing far down the street, toward a huge structure that Gale immediately recognizes.

The Presidential Mansion looms tall over the street, a huge balcony stretching from one of the top floors. It's dressed festively, bunting of lurid colors cross between the windows, and colored lights glow up at it, making it a mismatch of greens and purples and blues.

Gale's stomach lurches. In a matter of what may be minutes the mansion and the grounds directly around it will collapse, be sucked back into whatever level of hell it came from.

"It looks...different," he hears his dad say as he surveys their new surroundings.

Nodding, Gale feels his helmet shift a little. Other than the mansion, nothing looks like what he's seen on tv.

Alameda shrugs, waving her hand for them to follow.

"They redo it every couple of months. The look they have for the Games is generally consistent, but when it's not the focus of national viewing, it's a different party whenever you show up. This is probably a special designer's showcase since their making the Quarter Quell announcement." She sighs. "It was a carnival just a few weeks ago."

The weave between women in frilly dresses and men in oddly cut suits, all wearing awful, irritating perfumes and chattering mindlessly. Subjects vary from group to group, but one thing is consistent, they're talking about exploiting the districts.

Cut pay in Eleven, increase the quota in Nine, make Three's workers do overtime...

The more he listens, the more he wants to lash out. It takes every ounce of self-control he has not to do something stupid.

They're laughing, eating and lounging in the lap of luxury, while discussing utterly demoralizing the very people that make this life possible for them. It's sick.

Finally, they reach a small, velvet rope, cutting them off from hundreds of chairs.

"These people are..." Gale begins, but he doesn't have the words to describe the people he'd just passed through.

"Awful?" Alameda supplies. When Gale nods, glaring around at the monsters he's just waded through, she laughs.

"Well, they are." She grins, leaning in. "I rigged the lottery that got them tickets, made sure only the worst of the worst got seats to this show and in the standing view area. You know, just in case?"

Gale and his dad exchange a look.

"In case of what?"

He's pretty sure the Peacekeepers will avoid shooting anyone from the Capitol, and as cold as she is, Gale doesn't see Wiress actively killing anyone.

That may be giving her more credit than she deserves though.

Her nose wrinkles up. "Well, there's the possibility that the explosion and collapse of the mansion will destabilize the ground around it."

"Meaning?" Gale asks, almost afraid.

She takes her hands and mocks an explosion, then her fingers wiggle, apparently imitating flailing as she whispers a scream.

"Clear?" She asks brightly, as though she hadn't just mimed horrific deaths.

His dad looks around, looking more than a little unsettled. "How likely is that?"

Alameda shrugs. "Highly."

When Gale's dad flinches, she sighs.

"Look, to quote my District's escort, 'You can't make an omelet without spilling some milk'." Her eyes flick around to the crowd then back to Gale's dad. "And if you knew what I know about these people, you'd want this to be the milk spilled."

Gale stares at her. That's not how he remembers that saying going.

While his dad doesn't look so sure, whether about the strange phrase or its meaning, Gale isn't sure, after what he's had overheard, if only in snippets, he's inclined to agree. If there has to be deaths, at least it will be the guilty.

After a few seconds, Gale watches as his dad nods, though he still looks uncomfortable.

"This is where I leave you," Alameda tells them after a beat, taking Gale's dad's hand and putting the strap of her dirty purse in it. "Wait for the explosion, not a second before or you'll ruin everything, then jump the rope and head for the stage. They've got Mr. Haymitch on the front row. The hand is in here, use it on the car, just tell Mr. Haymitch to get you to the Via Solis. Get in and get out, you don't want to be here when the ground starts going."

Gale nods, he's ready to be done with all of this and get back to his family and Madge, but his dad catches her by the wrist before she can leave.

"Where will you be?"

Her nose wrinkles up. "Don't worry. I'm not afraid to die."

"You don't have to," his dad tells her, his voice low. "Just run. That's all you have to do."

For a second she stares at him, her mouth turned down, then it twitches up in a defeated sort of smile.

"I'm tired of running. Dying has been a long time coming, trust me."

With that, she twists away and disappears across the rope and into the sea of chairs.

His dad stares, his eyebrows pulled together in frustration, before he sighs, turning to Gale.

"You get Haymitch, I'll get-"

"No," Gale cuts him off. He already knows what he's going to say, and he isn't losing his dad to save some pain in the ass girl who clearly wants to go out in a grand fashion.

Making a frustrated noise, his dad glares out at the chairs. "Yes. I'm not leaving her here, Gale."

"She wants to be left." And for the first time, Gale wants to give her exactly what she wants.

Stubbornly, his dad shakes his head. "I'm not leaving her."

"Why not?" He asks, frustration bubbling over. "We barely know her, and what they do know isn't all that flattering. Leaving her is probably the kindest thing we can do."

Those reasons don't seem to sway his dad though.

Biting his lip, he just turns away. He's done explaining himself, clearly, and his mind is made up. He's going to go after her, no matter the risk.

"She won't just come," Gale finally says. "You're going to have to drag her out."

"Then that's what I'll do."

Grinding his teeth and closing his eyes, Gale nods.

They've got another person on their rescue list, whether he likes it or not.

#######

Wiress settles into the seat beside Haymitch, and Beetee beside Chaff, both toying with their umbrellas.

Haymitch watches them both, trying to figure out just what is so special about the stupid things.

Finally, his curiosity gets the better of him.

"What's the deal with the umbrellas?"

Wiress' lips twitch at the edges but her eyes stay on the handle of her umbrella. "You haven't worked it out?"

"Don't toy with me, woman," he growls. He doesn't have enough time left for her games.

Taking a long breath, she finally looks over at him, her expression smug.

"What would you want if it was raining bullets?"

Staring at her, he frowns as her words echo through his head. It looks like rain.

Picking his umbrella up, he sets it in his lap, studying it.

There's nothing extraordinary about it. Simple and dull, he'd almost say it was some kind of mass produced piece of crap, but that wouldn't make much sense. Nothing Wiress and Beetee come up with is mass produced or low quality.

Finally, something clicks.

"It's a shield," he murmurs, looking up for confirmation.

Chaff has his umbrella in his lap too, his eyes widening when he hears Haymitch's guess.

Smiling, Wiress nods, looking down to the umbrella at her side.

"Beetee and I have been developing them for months," she explains. "They should protect us from the Peacekeepers bullets. At least for a little while."

Feeling his mouth drop open, Haymitch relief floods his system, then anger.

"You-You lied to us!" He snarls. "You had us thinking we were gonna-"

"Shut up!" Wiress snaps, her eyes flashing dangerously. "I said 'should'. There are no guarantees'"

He's never been so sick of a set of words as he is of 'no guarantees'.

Straightening her skirt, she turns her gaze back to the stage. "We aren't sure how long they'll hold up under heavy fire, which I assure you, we will incur after Snow is eliminated. At best they'll buy us time to make sure we've hit our mark."

Chaff's eyebrows pull together, and for a moment Haymitch thinks he might say something, but instead he drops his gaze back to his umbrella.

Crossing his arms, Haymitch bites his tongue.

He isn't unhappy, even with Wiress' new toy, he might not survive. It's a better chance than he'd had before though, and that, for the first time in days, brings a ghost of a smile to his face.

#######

Hazelle watches as wave after wave of people come to the downed fence, first from the Seam, and then from Town.

The Everdeens are among the first to arrive, and Valencia and Prim quickly set about organizing things, trying to give order to the chaos of mixing the two elements of the district as only they can.

Most are carrying blankets and baskets of what food they could carry with them, clearly someone had warned them that they were about to go on an unpleasant journey and that they'd need essentials at the least.

Matilda has dropped down, cross-legged beside the gravel road, her eyes lazily watching each group as they pass by. Whether she's looking for her daughter or not, Hazelle doesn't know, she may very well have forgotten they're even in danger.

As the groups thin down, fewer and fewer people in each, Hazelle feels a knot of anxiety building in her middle.

Rory and Vick should be coming, but with each group she searches, she doesn't find them.

"Are the boys with Madge," Posy finally asks, her eyes shiny and bright in the moonlight.

That horrible possibility, that her sons went back to the Town to find Madge, hits Hazelle, sending a sharp pain through her chest.

They would, of course they would. They're too much like Asher in that way, always thinking about everyone else and forgetting that someone is waiting for them. She loves them for it as much as she curses that particular trait.

Steadying her breathing, Hazelle quickly decides she'll go back into the district and look for them. It's the only choice. They're her babies, she has to.

"Posy, stay with Matilda," she tells her daughter, picking her up and setting her down on the grass beside the other woman.

"Buy why?" Posy asks, her voice a high whine. She's exhausted and it's past her bedtime. Her eyes are pink and tired, a bit swollen from being rubbed, and there's no hope for a nap anytime soon.

Kissing her hair, Hazelle forces a smile. "I have to go find your brothers."

"Why?" Matilda asks, her hazy eyes settling on Hazelle, her nose wrinkled up in curiosity.

Hazelle grinds her teeth. If she doesn't have time to explain to her daughter why she's leaving her in the care of a mad woman, then she certainly doesn't have time to explain her worry to the mad woman.

Mentally she slaps herself. Matilda isn't mad, she'd had the presence of mind to help Peeta, not the actions of someone out of their mind. Frustration and fear are twisting her thoughts, making her feel crueler than she normally would.

She doesn't have time to make up for her cruel thoughts just yet. When she gets back, when the boys are safe and they're sheltered in the woods, then she'll make amends, even if Matilda never knows what for.

"Don't-Just keep an eye on Posy. Please, Matilda. When they start heading into the woods, make sure you and Posy go with them. Promise me you'll do that."

Matilda may only just barely understand the gravity of the situation, the danger they're all likely in, and for a moment, she simply stares, eyebrows pulled together in concern, her head tilted as she processes what she's been told.

Finally, she sighs.

"I promise."

Letting out a breath she didn't even know she was holding, Hazelle gives her a pained smile. "Thank you."

Matilda's eyes drift back to the road and she wrinkles her nose again.

"I still don't understand why you need to go find them." She lifts a delicate hand and points down the road. "They're right there."

Heart stopping, Hazelle follows her gaze.

Sure enough, straggling at the end of a small group of mixed Seam and Town headed up by Katniss, Rory and Vick are walking up the road.

Both of their hair is wild and sweaty, sticking up on its ends, and Rory has a tear over his left knee, but other than that, they look miraculously fine.

Nearly tripping on her own feet, Hazelle pushes through the crowd, fighting her way to her boys.

She doesn't have to drop down, they're both too tall for that, just flings her arms around them and holds them close. Tears start leaking down her cheeks and onto the pitifully thin material of their shirts, soaking through in seconds.

"Mom," Rory groans. "Get a hold of yourself."

"I can't breathe," Vick manages to rasp out.

Pulling back, Hazelle inspects them both, smoothing their hair and kissing their cheeks.

"Mom," Rory grumbles again. "There are girls here."

"I don't care," she blubbers. "I'm never letting you out of my sight again."

Rory pales a little, clearly having underestimated just how badly he'd worried her, his eyes darting around. Probably to make sure none of the girls he's so keen to impress are within earshot.

Vick, on the other hand, flings his arms around her, his nose pressing into her shoulder.

"It's okay, mom. We're fine."

Nodding, Hazelle presses a kiss into his hair.

Small arms suddenly fling around them both and a little nose nuzzles into Hazelle's side, and when she looks down, she finds Posy clinging to them.

"Do you still have to look for them?" She asks her lower lip quivering.

Kissing her hair, Hazelle laughs. "No, baby. It's gonna be okay."

Her children are safe, or at least are with her. Now all she needs is Asher and Gale back and her nerves will be at rest.

The gravel cracks behind them, and when Hazelle looks she finds Matilda, her hands clutched together at her chest and her eyes wide and worried.

"Did you see Madge?" She asks the boys.

It' s the first time she's asked about her daughter, expressed any kind of concern, as if seeing Rory and Vick, scraped and battered, has finally hammered home the danger her only child is in.

Vick pulls away, taking a step towards Matilda, forcing a smile.

"No, but she's gonna be okay," he tells her, taking her hand. "It's gonna be okay."

#######

"Mom, just go," Peeta hisses, giving his mother a push toward the road. "We don't know how long we have."

Katy-Jo Lewes ("And don't you forget it.") had found him, already at work passing the word along to people in Town about the danger they were about to be in.

Madge and Delly had stayed with him, going from street to street while the fake Peacekeepers did the same. Their new friends had slightly better luck getting people to move along than Madge, Delly, and Peeta, though.

After what felt like an eternity, they'd managed to rouse most people, though there were a few, the very old and the very ill mostly, that still refused to come.

"We won't make it," an old man had told them between coughs, his tissue coming away tinged pink and red.

When Madge had gone to Katy-Jo Lewes to beg for someone to gather him and his wife up, she'd shaken her head.

"He's right. Old and sick only got a choice between a fast or a slow death." She'd wiped sweat from her forehead. "I think he's picking the better of the two."

Despite being at the edge of tears, Madge had nodded. There was no changing the handful of people's minds, and even if there were, there wasn't the time. For all she knew, the Capitol was in shambles and bombers were on their way.

Peeta's family had gathered up blankets and bread, or at least his father and brothers had. His mother had been more concerned with family heirlooms.

"Just leave them, Eugenia," his father had pleaded before Peeta's oldest brother had forced him to leave her.

Rhys had tried to get her to leave too, but Madge had seen him head out shortly after his father and brother, apparently done with trying to save his mother. It wasn't until Peeta had gotten one of their new accomplices to come and 'encourage' her to move along that she finally left.

"Thanks, Jessup," Peete whispered as he nudged Mrs. Mellark out the front door of the bakery.

She was still shouting back to Peeta about where precious memorabilia were hidden as she was all but marched away.

"We should go too," Madge had muttered, pushing her sweaty bangs from her face.

Delly had shaken her head, thick braids thwapping the sides of her head. "No, we need to get some stuff."

Both Madge and Peeta had given her an incredulous look.

"You can't possibly want to look for Peeta's great aunt Essie's silver thimble," Madge muttered, covering her face with her hands.

"I don't even want to look for it," Peeta muttered. "My mom is nuts. You know that Delly."

Madge had been certain she had more sense than that, apparently that assumption had been dead wrong.

Biting her lip, Delly shook his head. "No, of course not." She went around the counter and dropped down, coming back up with a heavy looking bag. "We need this."

Madge had stared at it, dumbfounded, for several seconds before just what it was hit her.

"Salt?"

"To preserve," Delly explained. "My mother does it with meat."

Madge even remembered that Mrs. Everdeen used it sometimes for healing. It might be useful, they decided, worth taking at least.

They'd quickly loaded down a wheelbarrow for Madge to push, while Peeta and Delly had flung hundred pound bags over each shoulder.

The added weight slowed them, but if what they were bringing saved even one person, they decided it was worth the effort.

By the time they reach the road that runs near the fence, Madge is huffing and sweating heavily. Her muscles are burning and her mind keeps playing tricks on her, hearing phantom hovercrafts looming on the horizon, ready to make District Twelve nothing but a dusty memory.

"Took your time getting here, didn't you?" The boy that had helped get Peeta's mother moving chides them, taking the handles from Madge. He frowns. "That's a lot of salt."

"It's useful though, right?" Peeta asks, his voice laced with worry.

Katy-Jo Lewes, who they meet halfway up the road, nods. "Sure thing, sugar. I don't know that we're ever gonna use this much though."

Madge is relieved to hear they hadn't wasted precious moments on something completely useless, and she lets out a sigh of relief as she picks splinters from her reddened, blistered palm.

Turning, she looks back at the town.

It's dark and empty, except for a few souls. There's a haunting kind of peace about it that holds her attention. It makes her feel small, inconsequential, which she supposes, she is. Even if Gale and Mr. Abernathy think she's something precious, she isn't. She isn't worth all the lives she's uprooted, all the lives she's going to cost, maybe already has.

No one person is worth that much.

Something slams into her, nearly knocking her off her feet and pinning her arms down. Flyaway blonde hair fills her vision and her shoulder quickly soaks through with warm tears.

"I thought I lost you again," her mother sputters, clinging to her a little tighter. "I thought I messed up again."

Wiggling her arms free, Madge pats down her mother's hair and shushes her, closing her eyes and murmuring comforting things into her ear.

It's alright. I'm here. You aren't going to lose me.

Her mother has lost too many people in her life already. Her own mother, her twin, Poppa, and finally Madge's father, and each loss had chipped away at her fragile mind a little more. She can't lose anyone else.

Gravel skitters around her and when Madge opens her eyes, she finds Rory and Vick, looking relieved.

"What took you so long?" Vick asks, out of breath and flush.

Madge just smiles, smoothing her mother's hair.

This is about more than her life, about more than saving one person.

Every action they've undertaken, every move they've made, has been about saving everyone. Vick and Rory, all the kids that had been mean to her when she was small, people in districts Madge will probably never visit…this fight is about everyone.

No one deserves to watch their sister, their child, their family, fight in the Games for the Capitol's entertainment, and if this revolution is a success, no one ever will have to again.

Someone yells from up ahead, Madge misses what they say, but Katy-Jo Lewes doesn't.

"Reunion time's over," she shouts. "Party is about to start."

Madge feels her pulse quicken. "They're sending the bombers?"

Katy-Jo Lewes shakes her head. "About to make the announcement, and when they do, all hell is gonna break lose, and we don't want to be here when it does."

The mansion will fall, and, if all goes well, so will the Capitol.

All they can do now, is run and wait.

#######

Asher squints through his visor, up to the stage then down, the row directly in front of it.

From where he and Gale stand they can clearly make out the back of Haymitch's head, seated between Wiress with her stick straight, dark hair, and Chaff, now sporting a strange brown hat.

His eyes search the group, scanning over each row, until he finds dark green baby doll curls settled between dark spiky hair and dull brown, leaning over, probably talking.

It's a stupid move, especially if she's right and the area around them starts to collapse, but he can't just leave her. He has to try.

He hadn't been able to help his sister when he was little, when she'd been taken away and never come home; he owes it to her to save her daughter.

It may be a bit of selfish need pushing him to do it. He wants to know what happened to Olive, how many children she'd had, whether she got to have a proper toasting, if she was happy, and the only person that might be able to give him answers is Phoebe.

Looking at Gale, Asher feels a wave of guilt.

He has Gale to look out for, a wife and three other children waiting at home for him. He can't die for a girl he only barely knows, even if she is the last tie to his sister that exists. He can't leave Gale to traverse this strange place by himself.

A knot of conflict builds in his stomach, twisting and gnawing, threatening to make him sick.

There's no good choice.

Gale sighs, looking back at him and rubbing his face and knocking his helmet askew as he does.

"Okay, while I'm getting Haymitch, you-"

"I'll leave her."

For a second Gale stares at him, his eyebrows pinched together as he tries to put together just what his dad has said.

"But-"

"I'll leave her."

It's the only choice, he's allowed to make. He can't risk his life, risk Hazelle and the kids' security, even for the last trace of Olive. Gale's earlier irritation was well founded.

He'd been right. They don't know her, and she doesn't seem to want to be known.

Looking grim, Gale nods, looking back to the crowd now all seated, slowly quieting as the lights seem to soften and one, clear and harsh, settles on the stage.

Then they erupt again, screaming and whistling.

White haired and taught skinned, Snow finally ascends the stage, smiling, or at least pretending to smile, out at the crowd.

When he finally reaches the lectern, he waves a hand, hushing the rowdy like a father to unruly children, a contemptuous smile still hanging on his lips.

"Welcome my many friends and treasured guests," he begins, his voice echoing through the circle. "Tonight, we come together to greet our newest Victor."

The crowd begins again, dramatically flailing around, yelling out the boy from Eleven's name, filling the air with screams of delight. It's unsettling, wrong.

"Yes, yes, I think he'll prove to be a very popular young man," Snow tells them, smiling down to where it appears most of the Victors are sitting.

Whether it's the tone of his voice or the coldness of his smile, Asher isn't sure, but Snow's words make his blood run cold. For some reason, being a 'popular young man' doesn't sound all that desirable.

"I would also like to use this time to make an announcement," he begins as the yelling dies down.

A deadly silence sweeps across the chairs and several people actually lean forward in their chairs, hanging on his every word, anticipation etched in their strange features.

"This year's Game, as you know, is a very special occasion." He pauses, his thin mouth still turned up, looking out at the crowd, ensuring they're still waiting with bated breath. "A Quarter Quell."

Another wave of euphoria overtakes the crowd.

"The Quarter Quell!"

"A twist! A twist!"

Asher feels bile rise up in his throat. Their excitement would only be matched by the dread that every family in Panem would be feeling at this moment. What they see as a great treat, people like Asher, parents and children alike, see as a great punishment.

Waving a hand, Snow quiets them, his smile now faded.

A boy, maybe Vick's age, comes on stage, carrying a small box.

Trotting along, he stops in front of Snow, holding the box out to him.

Carefully, as though opening something terribly fragile, Snow removes the lid and selects a plain envelope.

Painfully slow, he runs a finger under the seam, opening it and then dropping it to the stage before stepping back behind the lectern.

"This year, the tributes shall be selected from the families of the Victors, and in the absence of family, as is, unfortunately the case in many of their cases, anyone that has ever shared a roof with them will be qualified."

It's just as Wiress had guessed, and it turns Asher's already ill stomach.

Euphoria sweeps the crowd.

People scream, beside themselves with excitement. Asher watches as one man drops to his knees, sobbing, not in fear as would be the case in the districts, but in happiness. Happiness that his beloved Victors will be losing a family member.

"Think of the drama it's going to bring out! There are just so many wonderful possibilities!" One woman squeals. "And just imagine if Finnick's nephew is Reaped?"

"Oh he's such a delicious looking young man," another coos in response.

They discuss them as if they aren't people, just characters in one of their obnoxious programs, and Asher can't listen anymore. Turning from them, he sees a woman faint in the distance, her head bouncing off the ground when no one bothers to catch her.

He quickly looks away, back to Snow.

Snow's face stretches into another unnerving smile, eyes glittering as he takes in the disgusting wonder his announcement has caused.

Then it happens.

A noise, terrible and deafening, fills the air as the ground trembles beneath their feet.

Asher grabs Gale, holding him up, as everything goes silent and the air fills with dirt and debris.

It's as if the sound had been turned off, blotted out in the flash of a moment. Asher can see people screaming, panicking, but he can't hear a word.

On instinct, both he and Gale bolt over the velvet rope, pushing their way through the madly flailing people. They jump over chairs, losing their footing several times as the ground below them shifts and shudders. All their movements are slow, as if they've been covered in molasses and are fighting their way through a pond of it.

A woman with a head full of feathers and jewels hits him in the mouth, as she tries to crawl over another person, sending blood spurting from his busted lip.

He spots another man, face down, maybe dead, trampled by the stampede of frightened people, being pick pocketed by a man and a woman. They try on his cufflinks and diamond studded hat as they stand over his body, unbothered by the madness unfolding around them.

Tripping, Asher feels Gale catch him, pulling him along, toward the front where they'd last seen Haymitch.

Suddenly, everything comes back, loud and fast.

There's screaming, fighting, gunfire in every direction, people running, pushing and crawling, trying to get out of the disaster.

The air is thick, full of smoke, muting all the wild colors and jewels. It almost reminds him of the coal dust back home.

Ahead of them, Haymitch is crouched down, apparently hiding behind an umbrella along with several other Victors.

"Haymitch!" Gale shouts, gritting his teeth. "HAYMITCH!"

Another round of gunfire goes off, and Asher watches as bullets bounce off each umbrella, as harmlessly as raindrops.

Wiress sits up, aiming the handle of her umbrella at the stage, then a burst of light and sound fires from the end.

"It's a gun!" Asher laughs, looking at Gale who looks flabbergasted at the development.

A shot lands near them, a ricochet off a chair, and both Gale and Asher hit the ground across the aisle from the front row, hiding behind an overturned table, still covered in an expensive cloth.

The ground moves again, and panic hits Asher. They don't have much time. The ground is unstable and may fall through sooner rather than later.

Jumping across the gap between themselves and the Victors, Asher rolls, firing off a few shots from his stolen gun and covering his head before crawling to Haymitch.

He grabs the Victor by the shoe, yanking him back.

"We need to run!" He shouts.

For a minute Haymitch just stares, then, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Asher jerks his them toward Gale, still crouched behind the table.

"He wanted to save you, for Madge!" He scoots up, wrapping a hand around the umbrella and trying to ignore the ping of bullets bouncing off it. "Now come on!"

Haymitch looks around him, first at Wiress and the man beside her, both firing their umbrella guns at the stage, then at Chaff.

"Chaff!" He shouts. "Come on! Let's get out of here!"

Instead of nodding though, Chaff just smiles sadly.

"I'm staying with my girl," he tells him. "For better or worse."

Haymitch's eyes cut first to Wiress, still firing at the stage, then back to Chaff. "Seriously?"

Chaff nods, giving him a half smile. "I don't question your choices, don't question mine."

A bullet flies over the top of the umbrella, narrowly missing Asher's leg.

"We really don't have time for this!"

He fires a few shots toward the Peacekeepers, missing them both but adding to their confusion before he ducks back down and glares at Haymitch.

"Don't make me regret this!"

Finally, Haymitch nods, looking over at Chaff.

"It's been something else, old man," he tells him, grinning wryly.

"Take care of yourself," Chaff tells him, returning them smile.

Looking at Asher, Haymitch shifts the umbrella. "On your count."

Three seconds later they're diving across the space again, both huddling behind the umbrella, bullets bouncing off the ground around them, while Asher shoots blindly over the top until they get back to the table.

"Let's get out of here, Gal-"

Frantically, Asher looks around. Gale is here, he just saw him, he has to be here...

He isn't though. All that's behind the table is broken glass and shredded flowers.

Gale is gone.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.

Gale runs through the gunfire, quickly learning that the bulky blue coat is bulletproof when a stray shot hits his shoulder, stinging it painfully, before bouncing harmlessly to the ground.

Wondering if Alameda knew about the jacket's safety features, and also just how big the bruise he's going to have will be, Gale continues on after the flash of green he'd watched run toward a shrubbery elephant at the edge of the chairs.

Slipping on debris, he lands, cutting his hand on something. Cursing, he tries to pick the offending object up, only to find it stuck.

Looking down, he quickly scoots away.

The diamond studded bracelet, now with his blood in the creases between the joints, is on a wrist. A woman, older than his parents maybe, though it's hard to tell with her frozen features, almost plastic from trendy surgeries, stares blankly back at him with strangely colored eyes, dark blood oozing from her cotton candy pink hair.

He stares at her for a moment, wondering what crime she'd committed that Alameda felt earned her a death sentence before shaking the thought off.

What's done is done. Whether he would approve of the punishment fitting the offence doesn't matter.

Pushing himself up, he almost trips again when the ground shifts underfoot and the mansion behind him groans, cracks and snaps as it begins to sink further into the earth.

With a grunt, he stays upright, jumping overturned and collapsed chairs until he reaches the now toppled and trampled ropes that had separated the two groups of Capitol citizens.

He glares at the elephant, enormous and sitting on its butt, trunk raised high in the air, looking for where Alameda had vanished to. Finally, he sees a break in the greenery, near its fat leg, and pushes through.

Inside is a mess of electronics, computers, cameras and screens all buzzing and chattering. One screen shows the chaos outside, apparently being broadcasted across the nation.

For a moment he watches it. People are panicking, running around screaming and crying, but the Capitol's reporters aren't deterred. They continue to treat it as nothing more than a ratings boost as they attempt to stop frightened people and interview them, smile as they stand in front of the burning mansion, even make chipper commentary about the clothing people are wearing. It turns his stomach.

He'd been wondering where the cameras were, the few he'd spotted with the 'on the spot' reporters couldn't possibly handle the elaborate spread that often accompanied a Capitol announcement, and now he had his answer. Clearly the amount of equipment ruined the look of the circle.

"Alameda?" He calls out, uncertain what he's going to find.

After a few seconds, wild mossy hair pops out from atop a raised platform, that Gale assumes someone sat on to control the camera that seemed to be telescoped up to the elephant's trunk, face pinched up in confusion.

"Dorothy? What are you doing here?"

Scowling up at her, Gale snaps, "Getting your crazy ass out of here."

One of her eyebrows quirks up. "Boy are you in for a disappointment."

He isn't. He'll drag her out if he has to.

"Get down here and come on. There's time to get out." He jabs a finger at the ground. "Now get down here."

She shakes her head. "Uh-uh."

Growling, Gale puts a hand on the first rung of the ladder up to her. "If you don't come down I'm coming up to get you."

Rolling her eyes, Alameda disappears from view. "Go home, Dorothy. Live, make lots of little brats with Madgie and pray they turn out more like her than you."

With a grunt, Gale starts to pull himself up on the ladder, but his boot slips and his annoyance flares. "Get down here!"

"I can't," she yells back. "Someone has to make sure the revolution stays on the air. Beetee went through a lot of trouble to make sure this little station could override the main ones and keep this going out to the districts. Can't let him down."

He greatly doubts she needs to be there to control anything. She's just being a pain.

"Did you kill the people that were supposed to man this thing?" He asks, looking around and expecting to find bodies tossed into the shrubbery around him. None are there though.

"You know, I don't just go around killing people," she grumbles, still unseen.

Could've fooled me.

"I told them to get out. They were just doing their job." She pops back over the edge, grinning. "And I'm telling you the same thing. Get out."

The ground shakes, as though punctuating her demand, and Gale puts a foot on the ladder.

"Well then get down here," he snaps.

Sighing, she crosses her arms under her chin as she continues to stare down at him, almost sadly.

"I'm not leaving." Her green lips twitch down and the glint in her eyes fades. "I told you earlier 'worst if the worst'. That's me too, D. If we're cleaning house we need to do it right."

Heaving himself up, Gale slowly makes his way up the ladder, huffing as he goes. It's taller than he thought.

"That's Capitol people," he grunts out as she slips out of view, settling back on the platform somewhere. "You aren't Capitol."

With one last breath, he pulls himself to the top rung, his face popping up and over the edge.

Alameda looks over at him, a weak smile playing at the edges of her mouth.

"Aren't I though?"

She gestures sadly at her dress, eyes flicking up to her hair, and sighs.

Gale simply stares at her.

She looks a bit like an overgrown doll that's been handled too roughly. Her dress is wrinkled and dirty and her perfect little ringlets are frazzled and messy, wind tossed and greasy looking. Even her makeup, which had been unsettlingly flawless, is smeared, rubbed at and off. She's even pulled her fake eyelashes off.

In the dull light of the makeshift news station she looks less like a Capitol plaything, a mindless, thoughtless creature without a soul, and more like a lost kid.

"You aren't from the Capitol," he tells her, trying to keep the edge from his voice. "You're from the districts."

A bitter little laugh seems to topple out of her as she swats at her eyes.

"I haven't been from the districts in a very long time." She stares down at her scuffed heels, her expression twisted up in disgust. "You never get to go home. Winning just means you die a little slower. Whoever they reaped, she hasn't existed since I won."

He takes a quick breath, ready to counter her. "You're still her. They-don't let them win. You're still-"

"I'm not!" She snaps,finally looking at him. "I don't know who I am. I've done terrible things, I've hurt so many people, and sometimes I don't know if I'm doing it to survive or if I'm doing it because I want to." Tears start dripping off the edge of her face as she turns her eyes back to her feet. "I'm not from the districts and I'm not Capitol. I'm not anything. I have nothing and no one, that's the prize. Isolation and distrust, because anything else and they have the tools to hurt you." She swallows, biting her lip. "You get everything but what you want most, what you had before. Does that make sense?"

Gale remembers people talking about Haymitch, how he never used his victory to help anyone, a lousy drunk that only ever embarrassed them. He wonders, vaguely, if all the talk sank into his mind like it had clearly done with Alameda.

They're animals in gilded cages, taken out for the people's amusement, taunted and probably mistreated, family and friends stripped away, all the time being told to smile, they're Victors after all. All the time being scorned for their behavior by the very people they're probably trying to protect.

Haymitch only got what he wanted most at the cost of another person's life, and even then, he didn't. Madge loved him, but he wasn't her dad, not in her mind anyway, and Matilda was a public joke. His small victory was tarnished by what it cost them, and as much a dick as Haymitch is, he obviously loves them both enough that the damage done to them had to sting.

Her eyes cut to Gale. "That all victory means, see? The only winner is the Capitol."

And in her mind, they've already beaten her, maybe even all of them.

Pulling himself up, Gale settles at the edge, squinting over at her.

He can't tell her she's wrong, because honestly, she probably isn't. If she's been half as awful to the people from her past as she's been to him, there's no one for her left. She's been immersed in the Capitol and it's messy, horrible ways for so long she isn't who she was, and she may never be again.

The girl sitting in front of him is broken, and he doesn't know if she can be mended.

"Get out of here, okay? Your dad is probably shitting himself looking for you."

Gale sighs, rubbing his eyes, still stinging from smoke and heat.

"Look, I don't like you," he begins.

Alameda snorts. "Great opening."

"-but Madge and my dad do, and that tells me you aren't as lost a cause as you or me think."

She rolls her eyes. "Your dad and Madge like you too. They clearly have a predisposition for liking people who don't deserve it. I wouldn't take their judgment too seriously."

That gets a chuckle out of Gale.

"Yeah, well, I might actually agree with you there."

Madge also likes Haymitch, though in light of what Gale's learned, that may very well have been inevitable.

She gives him a watery little smile, nodding for him to go back down.

Glancing over his shoulder, he hears the dull noise of crashes, gunfire and screaming, all muted by the thick shrubbery around them. He should leave, he knows that. He can't though.

Without her falsely frightening personality and wicked grin, she seems human, and he can't abandon her. It isn't in him.

Sighing, he shifts, settling his eyes on her.

"Phoebe, you-I'm not gonna tell you it'll be easy, 'cause it won't, but...they stole so much of your life already, don't let them take the rest."

She shakes her head.

"I've hurt a lot of people. I don't deserve to live."

"Maybe not," he agrees, "but you owe it to them to make amends, and you can't do that if you're dead. If suffering is what you're after, then live and do it right."

It's a challenge, a bit mean, but it's all he has. If she's so hell bent on doing the right thing, this would be it.

"If it were me, I'd want you to live and pay for everything you did, not take the coward's way out."

For a few seconds she just stares at him, studying him, what for he isn't sure, nose wrinkled up and eyes narrowed and wet. She's listening, and that gives him hope that this might all work out.

She snorts. "That's low," she says, "but probably right."

Gale shrugs, a smile twitching up at the edges of his mouth. "Besides, we need you to drive."

She laughs, wiping under her eyes, smearing green eyeliner across her face.

"That's true. If you thought I was bad, Haymitch hasn't driven since you and I were both in diapers." She smiles, wet and sloppy, sniffling. "You'd make it, but you're lunch might not."

Holding his hand out, Gale gives her a small smile.

"Alright then," he smiles a little brighter, "come save our lunch."

It's the least she can do.

#######

Asher's eyes frantically scan what is becoming an increasingly murky, sweltering battleground.

There are bodies, fallen Capitol citizens decked out in their finery, now lifeless and bloody, scattered around. Chairs and tables overturned, flowers thrown, shrubbery burning, but no Gale.

"Where the hell is he?" Haymitch ask, squinting into the dust.

Asher just shakes his head and swallows down bile.

He doesn't have even the foggiest idea where Gale could've gone. For all he knows, his son was grabbed from behind and pulled to the Peacekeepers' side, maybe even shot as a deserter of some sort. The thought turns his stomach.

Falling back into the table, he scrubs his hands over his face, trying to fight off the panic overwhelming his system.

His son might be dead, and it's all his fault. He should've talked him out of this, should've made him stay back at the hotel, anything that might've kept him alive.

"What the hell is that?" He hears Haymitch's bewildered voice ask.

Ignoring him, Asher sighs, trying to scrub the dust and heat from his eyes so he can continue his search.

Then Haymitch starts laughing.

Looking up, mostly to snap at him that this isn't the time, Asher stops when he sees just what has him suddenly so cheerful.

A blue coat, singed and flapping in the wind, is running toward them.

Gale jumps an upturned chair, stumbling a little as he gets his footing again and carries on as though nothing had happened. Over his shoulder is something that after a second of staring, Asher realizes is a someone.

He'd gone looking for Phoebe, and that both angers and elates Asher.

If there's one thing Gale isn't, it's forgiving. Going after someone he so clearly dislikes is a big step for him. A foolish step, but a big one nonetheless.

His eyes stay focused on his son, right up until he slides in next to him and Haymitch.

"I said put me down, you Neanderthal!" Phoebe snaps when Gale practically tosses her to the ground as he ducks behind the table.

She looks a mess. Hair wild, curls falling out, dress tattered, and makeup almost rubbed completely off, but she's there, and she's alive, all because of Gale.

"I'm not getting killed because of your shitty shoes!"

"These aren-" she freezes, glaring at her feet. "Okay, yeah, they're pretty shitty."

Before Asher knows what he'd doing, he's grabbed Gale around the neck, pulling him into a crushing hug.

"Don't you ever, ever do that to me again, you hear me?"

Tears sting at his eyes as fear and relief tighten his chest and he fights off a sob. There isn't time for that, not now.

"Dad-I," Gale mumbles into his shoulder. "Dad, I'm sorry." He wraps his arms around him. "I just-I knew you'd never forgive yourself if she died."

Pulling back, Asher gives Gale a small pat on the cheek, a little harder than he intends. "You're a good kid." He shakes his head. "You just shaved at least ten years off my life, but you're a good kid."

The ground beneath them shudders.

"I hate to break up this touching reunion," Asher hears Haymitch say, coughing as he does, "but if we don't leave soon you won't get one with the rest of the rest of your family."

Clapping Gale on the shoulder, Asher nods. "Yeah."

Phoebe holds out her hand. "Gale, gun."

Gale scowls. "You can't even run. Why do you need a gun?"

She rolls her eyes. "Because I'm the only one here that knows how to shoot and hit my target. You're just wasting ammo."

Haymitch makes a noise. "What are you gonna do? Shoot covering fire from over the boy's shoulder?"

Snatching the gun from Gale's side, she pulls the cartridge out and stuffs it back in with a click. "Yep."

While Gale doesn't look particularly happy about this, he doesn't get much of a say when she stands, firing off a few shots in the direction of the Peacekeepers.

"Now or never boys."

A few minutes later they're running, huffing, as they try to avoid bullets and bunting, burning topiary and bodies while Phoebe shoots from her spot on Gale's back.

"Come on, Haymitch!" Gale snaps when he begins falling behind.

Asher trips looking back at the scene, only to be grabbed by Gale and dragged along for several seconds before he finds his footing again.

Phoebe directs them down a smaller street crushed full of people trying to escape the rumbling ground behind them.

It twists and turns as they step on broken glass, trampled flowers, and fallen fliers for shows until they come out at a wider boulevard.

Across the street from them, waiting patiently, is the car.

"Why did it take twice as long to leave it as it did to come back?" Gale asks as he lets Phoebe drop back to the ground, her heels clicking as they hit the pavement.

"We took the scenic route there. Don't complain."

She takes the bag from Asher's shoulder, he'd forgotten it was even there, and pulls out the severed hand.

"Who did you kill?" Haymitch asks, his mouth hanging open.

Phoebe huffs. "Oh, he'll live."

They all dive over the doors, into the car, as she slaps the hand onto the dash and it rumbles to life and she shifts it into gear, narrowly missing fleeing citizens as she does.

"What are you taking Hortum Way for?" Haymitch asks, pulling himself up between Asher and Phoebe and pointing toward another road. " Take Pelagus up to Via!"

"At this time of night?" She asks, looking quizzically over at him.

"Pick a direction!" Gale snaps, still a little out of breath.

Before either one can defend their choice, gunfire comes from up one of the streets, cutting their options in half.

The car veers right, up a ramp, and finally back onto the raised road they'd come in on.

Slowly, the gunfire and the explosions fade into the night behind them and the sound of rushing wind fills Asher's head.

It's cool, stinging, replacing the burning of heat, ash, and dirt that had so recently overwhelmed his senses. His body deflates, collapsing back into the seat. It's almost over.

His eyes raise up, toward the sky.

The stars, so bright in Twelve, are barely visible, overpowered by the bright lights and haze of the Capitol, but he searches for them anyway. They're there, even if he can't see them.

Hazelle and the kids are under the same sky, and after the night he's had, that's a small comfort, but one he desperately needs.

#######

Hazelle holds Posy close, wrapping Matilda's blanket a little more tightly around her.

A brisk cold has settled in, surrounding the massive group of people now wandering through the woods, following the strangers dressed as Peacekeepers.

There are those grumbling, talking of going back. Nothing has happened yet, almost half an hour out, and they think they've been led astray.

"The Capitol is going to kill us all for leaving," she hears one man say.

"If we aren't killed by something wild or a mutt," a woman mutters back, just loud enough for Hazelle to hear.

With each passing minute, Hazelle feels her stomach clench and lurch, wondering if they might not be just a little right.

What if Asher and Gale's group failed? What if they were caught? What if the Capitol simply came down and captured everyone fleeing Twelve?

As each thought forms she forces it out.

Asher won't fail, he won't fail his family. Gale won't. It's an impossibility, something she refuses to even entertain.

Rory is to her left and Vick to her right, and beside him Madge and her mother slowly trudge on, whispering quietly to each other as they go.

Finally, Madge smiles weakly, first at Vick, then at Hazelle.

"Getting cold," she says, her teeth chattering.

It is, but it's only a little colder than their house in the Seam could get if the fuel for the stove ran low. The trees provide sufficient cover from the brisk wind and the crush of bodies gives body heat.

Madge and Matilda aren't used to the cold though. Haymitch, and before that the Mayor, had given them comfortable, warm lives.

"It reminds me of the home," Madge quietly adds.

A sharp ping hits Hazelle's chest and she gives her a small, understanding smile. Madge's life hadn't been perfect. Even if she hadn't lived in the community home for long, even a day was more than any child deserved. Just imagining any of her own children in that place turned Hazelle's stomach.

Matilda had been sent to the holding center, locked up and force fed who knows what to keep her quiet and sedate and doing any number of other horrible things to her while she was captive. The strain of it had almost shattered what was left of her broken mind.

Neither of their lives had been as easy as everyone always thought, and Hazelle mentally scolds herself for being one of those people.

"We'll be to the train soon," Hazelle tries to comfort her.

Katy-Jo Lewes and Jefferson, the two apparently in charge of the evacuation, had explained to them that they were going to use an old rail system from before Panem.

"How do you know it will work?" Someone had shouted.

"How the hell you think we got here?" Katy-Jo Lewes had shouted back. "Our friends from the Capitol maintained it. It works."

Apparently, District Six had been charged with keeping the old rails in working order to help aid in 'adventure outings' for rich Capitol citizens. They'd pay top dollar to see the 'uncivilized wilds' around the districts and not have to sully themselves with actually going into the districts.

It's both insulting, it's comical, and it's a stroke of luck.

They just have to reach it.

Nodding Madge hitches the blanket a little more snuggly around her and her mother's shoulders.

"Look at the stars, love," Matilda sighs. "Such nice clear night."

Both Madge and Hazelle look up.

Little lights twinkle down at them, happy and distant, not knowing or caring what horrors are probably awaiting the small humans that so often wish upon them.

"Madge knows the constellations," Matilda adds. "Don't you love?"

Lips twitching, Madge keeps her eyes up. "Yeah, dad taught me."

"Show me one" Vick prompts her.

"Pick one with a good story," Rory quickly adds. "Dad mentioned one about a girl that was going to get eaten."

A little laugh bubbles up and out past Madge's lips.

"I think you're talking about Androme-"

The air is suddenly filled with a terrible roar and a wave of heat hits them, almost knocking Hazelle over, she's only saved by Madge catching her.

"What the hell?" Rory asks, squinting back toward the district.

Hazelle starts to chastise him for swearing, but stops when her eyes see the sky behind them.

Flames reach up to the sky, painting their edges orange and yellow. Billows of smoke block the stars, dark and hateful, taking with it all the memories of the district.

More explosions echo through the air, thundering painfully.

Posy wakes crying, sobbing onto Hazelle's shoulder, while Vick and Rory stay transfixed, watching their home be reduced to ash.

Decades of coal dust probably make it burn hotter, and Hazelle imagines the coal seam, all the mines, are quick fodder for the fire bombs being so mercilessly dropped on their home.

It'll all be gone in a few minutes, cremated, the carcass of what had once been a place people etched out simple lives.

Eyes rising back to the sky, Hazelle sighs.

The stars are gone now, hidden behind the smoke of the district. They're still there though, watching over Asher and Gale, and that calms her.

She needs whatever comfort she can get at the moment.

#######

Madge feels her mother's chilly hands squeeze hers as the train comes into view.

It's nice, fancy even, which makes sense. Anyone from the Capitol would want to view the dangerous wilds from nothing less than the finest money could offer.

"Will we all fit?" Rory asks, his eyes darting around to the vast number of people milling around.

As if answering his question, Jefferson, the older, wiry haired man with a deep, pleasant voice, crawls to the top of the last car and clears his throat.

"As you can clearly see, not everyone is going to go this first time, not even the second time." The crowd begins to grumble, but he silences them with a single raised hand. "It's gonna take five trips to get you all to the depot outside Eleven, if our figuring is right, and from there you're gonna hafta walk a few miles."

This doesn't set well with several people, but there's no choice. This is the end of the line.

Something warm and soft pats Madge's shoulder.

Startled, Madge turns and finds Katy-Jo Lewes, a small smile on her face.

"You and your momma are on the first train."

Madge instantly shakes her head. She doesn't want special treatment. There's enough scorn tossed her way without being given a seat on the first train out of what's left of Twelve.

"No choice, Madgie. Strict orders that you, mom, and the kiddos are a priority." She crosses her arms. "Apparently they promised Haymitch Abernathy."

Heart cracking, Madge feels tears stinging at her eyes. Even when he isn't there, Mr. Abernathy is looking out for her. She can't deny him that chance.

She'll chide him over it later, when they're all together, alive and safe and free, about his over-protectiveness, but for now, she'll let him have this.

"Gale's family too?"

Katy-Jo Lewes nods.

Swallowing down bile, Madge looks around, quickly finding her friends.

Delly is with her family, comforting her tearful mother while her dad and brother stare back at the flames.

Peeta and his family are sitting on a downed tree, his father, brothers, and him all talking in low tones while his mother paces.

Finally, Katniss is hugging Prim, probably keeping her warm, her mother standing by, arms crossed and eyes down. She reminds Madge too much of her own mother. Not strong enough for the hardships life threw at her, but trying with everything she has to survive it anyway.

Madge watches them for a moment, as Katniss' eyes slowly cut to her mother, and, with more than a little hesitance, reaches out.

Slowly, as though she isn't sure her daughter will actually accept physical contact with her, Mrs. Everdeen takes Katniss' hand. With a weak smile, Katniss pulls her to them, folding her into the hug.

Turning back to Katy-Jo Lewes, Madge takes a deep breath.

"My friends come too," she tells her. "Katniss and Delly and Peeta, their families too. They helped with this. If I deserve to go then so do they."

She crosses her arms, preparing herself for a fight, but Katy-Jo Lewes just shrugs. "Okay."

"Oh," Madge's arms slacken, "uh, thanks."

"No problem." She turns, a few of her braids slipping from a mystified Posy's hands.

"You have pretty hair," Posy tells her, wide eyes still lingering on the swaying braids.

Smiling, Katy-Jo Lewes taps the end of Posy's nose before tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"Gather up your guests Madgie. I gotta go help the others get everyone else in groups." She gestures to the back train car. "Once you've got all your people, get in the last car. It's the smallest, but I think it's the nicest."

With that she vanishes, into the crowd, forcing her way to her friends.

Half an hour later they're all on the train.

It's silent, ghosting through the countryside without so much as a noise.

Madge stays by the window at the back, watching the glow of the fires slowly fade in the distance.

It's all gone, every memory, good and bad, up in a cloud of smoke.

Poppa's sweet shop, his home above it, the school, the community home, the Victors' Village, Gale's home, all nothing but hot ash smoldering in the night.

Taking a deep breath, Madge turns her back on it, instead turning her attention to the inside of the train.

Hazelle is slumped in one of the front corners, Posy snoozing on her lap, Vick curled into her side, and Rory sprawled wildly at her feet. They're all filthy, covered in dirt and ash, gray ghosts of a dead district.

The Mellark's are spread out, and it doesn't escape Madge's attention that Peeta has chosen to collapse nearest the lump of Everdeens.

Her own mother is dozing quietly beside her, a bag of pictures pressed tightly to her chest.

"It's strange, isn't it?" Delly, the only person other than Madge awake, asks.

Her brother's head is lolling on her mother's shoulder and her dad is passed out, bald head resting against the window, smudging it spectacularly.

They'd been confused when Madge had come to them, telling them they were to be among the first to leave.

"But why?" Mr. Cartwright had asked, looking truly confused.

Madge had simply gestured to Delly.

"We couldn't've done it without her," she answers simply.

She'd saved Madge and Katniss and she'd beaten a Peacekeeper to a bloody pulp, without her, they might be dead at least twice over.

Delly had burst into tears, throwing her arms around Madge's neck and blubbering incoherently after that.

Both the Cartwrights had beamed at their daughter, delighted she'd been such a help, telling her she was so brave, and her little brother had looked at her in absolute awe, something Madge knew from Gale's frequent grumbles was a rarity from younger siblings.

Her knuckles are bruised and scraped, and she's as filthy as everyone else, but she's still smiling as she looks across the car at Madge.

"What's strange, Delly?" Madge frowns.

Looking back through the window, at the now dim glow of District Twelve, Delly shrugs.

"Everything. This morning was like every other morning and now look, we're going to Eleven. I never even thought I'd leave the District." Her gaze falls back to Madge. "That's strange to me, that things can change so quickly."

Madge nods.

One minute she'd been the Mayor's daughter and the next she'd been nothing. Just as quickly she'd been plucked up, into a new, life with Mr. Abernathy without any real reason.

She'd gained a boyfriend and in the next breath a death sentence, and if that wasn't a lightning change of emotion she didn't know what was.

Her life has been a string of strange occurrences it seems.

"Yeah," she replies, settling back into the seat. "Strange, but not bad."


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.

Asher watches as Phoebe toys with the glowing square on the dash, her expression excited as each disembodied voice wails and sobs about the tragedy that's befallen their beloved City Circle.

"They're gonna be even more upset once the news gets hold of what's going on in the districts," she tells him, smiling as she hits something and turns the radio off.

"And what is going on in the districts?" Haymitch asks, crossing his arms and glaring at the back of her head. "If we're allowed to know now."

Rolling her eyes, Phoebe cuts across the now barren road. "Uprising. You shouldn't need me to tell you that. The people Wiress was in contact with ought to be rallying already."

Stomach rolling, Asher swallows down a sudden wave of nausea. "And how are you gonna know if everything did go as planned?"

More specifically, he wants to know when they're going to know if their family made it out, but he can't get the question to form. It lodges in his throat, too scared to come out.

She gestures with her head, toward a strangely shaped building ahead of them.

It's dome like, dull white lights around what must be the roof, giving it a fairly sinister glow from their place on the elevated road approaching it.

"You're gonna ask a hovercraft how your little plan went?" Haymitch asks, looking profoundly unimpressed.

"Yes, they've gained sentience." She shoots him a nasty look in the rearview mirror. "I'm going to use the communicator inside them, you jerk."

Haymitch still looks less than pleased, but gives her a curt nod anyway.

Settling down in the seat, Asher sighs, expecting to get a few moments of rest before whatever comes next. His eyes are barely closed though, when he hears one of the seats behind him shift and someone let out a long sigh.

"Uh, thanks," he hears Haymitch say. "Thanks for coming for me."

Gale doesn't say anything, and that sets off a warning flare for Asher.

Opening an eye, he looks warily at the mirror, at Gale's tense jaw and grinding teeth.

He almost gets out a warning, this isn't the time or leave it for later maybe, but he's too slow and before his mouth is even open Gale is already giving Haymitch a piece of his mind.

"You son of a bitch."

One of Haymitch's eyebrows quirks up. "I'm not gonna argue against that, but I'd still like to know what's stuck up your ass. All I said was 'thanks'."

"I only came and got you because you're important to Madge, but after you tell her the secret you and her mother have been keeping from her, you might not be."

For several seconds, Haymitch stares at him, clearly uncertain what he's talking about. Finally, he huffs. "What are you on about? Did Bird slip you something?"

A small growl, deep and irritated, rumbles in Gale's chest before he finally snaps.

"You're her dad! You're her dad and you kept that from her!"

Haymitch doesn't say anything, just stares at Gale, too stunned to form so much as a word in his defense.

Asher watches as Haymitch's expression shifts, first to shock, then to fear, panic, and finally, anger.

"Bird, you yappy pain in the ass!"

Phoebe, apparently sensing that she's about to be on the receiving end of Haymitch's fury, has slunk down, her eyes probably just barely able to see the road over the dash.

Jerking himself between the front seats, Haymitch fixes Phoebe in a dark glare.

"That was-what are you doing, going around telling other people's business?"

Asher shoves Haymitch back, giving him a sharp look. "Leave her alone, Haymitch."

Looking genuinely sheepish, Phoebe gives him a weak smile before focusing her attention back on the rearview mirror.

"To be fair, I didn't expect to still be alive and having to deal with the consequences of my actions," she tells Haymitch, shrugging. "So, oops."

"Oops?" Haymitch's jaw tenses so much Asher is certain his teeth might crack. "Oops? Sweetheart, oops is a bit of an under-reaction to what you've done, don't you think?"

She ponders the question for a minute, then grimaces. "I suppose."

"You suppose?" Haymitch looks exasperated. "Kid, you-"

"Stop yelling at her and-"

"I'm yelling at her because she's divulging personal-"

"Planned on dying!"

"Shut up!" Asher finally shouts, silencing the whole car. "All of you just be quiet!"

Cool wind whipping over the car, flapping their clothing and hair, makes the only noise as all the occupants of the car shift uncomfortably in their seats, mouths snapped shut.

Finally, he clears his throat, turning in the seat.

"Gale, it isn't your place to judge another person's choices."

And if what Phoebe had said is true, Haymitch had a very good reason to keep Madge out of the loop.

Asher can't even imagine how hard keeping one of his kids at arm's length would be. Missing their birth, first smile, first steps and words, rocking them to sleep and kissing them goodnight, all the things that parents are supposed to get to enjoy would've killed him, and he's sure not being there for them with Madge ate at Haymitch.

His only child loved him, but not as her dad.

When he'd come home and learned about the Mayor's death, and the fact that Madge was in the community home and Matilda had been locked up, it had to have killed him. It would've Asher.

Haymitch had sacrificed a lifetime of moments and memories, even his relationship, with a girl he clearly treasured, just to keep her safe. He'd given up his daughter for her own good, accepted a much less important role in her life, because the alternative might've gotten her killed.

Neither Asher or Gale can pass judgment on him. He'd done what was best for his kid. That's what any parent would do.

Gale glares at the back of Asher's seat for a minute, apparently feeling he has as much right as anyone to pass judgment.

"Madge deserves to know," he finally says.

Haymitch shakes his head. "What she deserves and what she needs are two different things-"

"You think it isn't important for her to know who her real parents are?" Gale practically growls. "You don't think she needs to know who she is?"

"Telling her just who was careless enough with her mother's life to get her pregnant won't change who she is," Haymitch counters, running a hand over his face. "Do you really think it'd be doing her any favors? Telling her she isn't the kid of a man that died to protect an entire district. Telling her she's the district drunk's little bastard instead. Where's the logic in that? Tell me? Make a case and I'll happily listen."

He sets Gale in a dark look, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes, waiting for him to accept his challenge.

Gale, for his part, stays quiet, mouth snapped shut, chewing his tongue.

"People don't like being lied to," he finally says, his voice soft, unconvinced.

"There's no lie," Haymitch replies, looking toward the glowing city spreading by. "Daniel raised her. He was there for everything, not me. He may not be her blood, but he's her dad."

Asher studies him for a moment, grim expression and dark eyes.

There's no trace of bitterness in his voice, though no one could blame him if there were. He's had years, Madge's whole life, to come to grips with what he's just said, turn the hard truths of their lives into plain, irrefutable words that can roll off his tongue. A simple lie that's anything but easy.

It's killing him, repeating to them what's he's probably recited in his head a million times, but he's doing it because it's what's best for Madge.

He's never considered Haymitch a particularly admirable man, but for this moment, when he's seeing just what he's willing to sacrifice for a child who he refuses to let see the best of him, he admires him more than anyone.

The car stays quiet, and Asher turns, looking at Phoebe.

Before he knows what he's asking, the question is out.

"Would you want to know?"

She cuts him a look, the wind whipping her now limp curls around her head.

"Want to know if Haymitch was my dad?" Her nose wrinkles up. "That seems a bit improbable."

Haymitch snorts and Phoebe smiles at him in the mirror.

"There are worse people to be related to though, I suppose."

"That's-I didn't mean it like that." He looks out ahead of them, at the growing dome. "If you had family, if you didn't know someone was your family, would you want to know?"

He needs to know. Her thoughts in the matter are more relevant than she realizes.

She just shrugs though.

"I'm sure I've got family somewhere, no one exists in a vacuum." She brushes a stringy bit of hair from her face. "Question is, would they want to know me?"

Asher gives her a small smile. "You aren't so bad."

Her eyes stay focused on the road as a small grin forms. "I'm the worst."

#######

Gale rolls Haymitch's words over and over in his head.

Much as he hates to admit it, he's right. As far as anyone could ever be concerned, Madge is better off as she is.

Even without the Capitol's leering eyes lingering on her, Madge is still safer, more sympathetic, as an Undersee.

She's a poor girl with a sickly mother and a dead father. Even if no one has given her much concern, she'll get even less, maybe even have outright scorn and ridicule tossed at her for the mess she's a part of, despite the fact that she had no say in it.

Besides all that, he isn't sure how Madge will react.

Will she be hurt that they kept it from her? Angry?

Gale tries to imagine how he would feel if he suddenly found out the people he trusted most had kept something so personal from him.

Betrayed, he thinks, definitely betrayed.

She loves her mother and Haymitch, and telling her they've sat on this secret since she was born might drive her away from them. Gale can't bring himself to be the one to take her sense of security from her, and he can't find it in himself to make Haymitch do it either.

If she finds out though, his mind instantly prods him, she's going to hate you every bit as much as them.

At least her mother and Haymitch had her best interest at heart, what's Gale's excuse going to be? He didn't want to be the one to break her heart? Not a good excuse.

Groaning, he sinks into his seat, the leather making a strange squeaking noise as he does.

There's no good way out of this.

"Just leave her be," Haymitch finally sighs. "Please, just let her be happy."

Gale looks up, between the seat and the door, to where his dad has slumped down, staring at the floorboard.

Would he have let Gale or any of the kids grow up believing someone else was their dad if it would save their life? Could Gale do that?

It makes him a little sick to think about, and he suddenly wonders how Haymitch managed to keep it together half as well as he had. If Gale had been in his position, drinking wouldn't have been enough.

Blinking, he feels something wet and warm roll down his cheek and quickly swats it away. This isn't the time.

This isn't about him or Haymitch anymore, it's about Madge. Not what's best, but what's right.

"She'd want to know," his mouth takes off before he can fully articulate in his mind just why she'd want that.

"That's not-"

"That's the only thing that's important," Gale cuts him off. "She's had her whole life manipulated around her. This is a new start, for her and for all of us, I'm not starting it by holding onto old secrets."

"It's my secret," Haymitch snaps. "It's mine to keep and mine to tell."

"It's Matilda's too," Gale reminds him. "And telling isn't going to change anything."

"It will-"

"It won't." Gale shakes his head. "She's still going to be Madge. Whether she's yours or anyone else's."

And Madge is understanding, quiet, kind, and brave, she'll see the truth and know that it was all done out love. She'll weather whatever storms come her way like she always has, with her head high. This won't break her.

"She's had three people love her more than their own happiness," Phoebe quietly adds. "That's three more than some people ever get."

Haymitch glares at her in the mirror, his jaw tense as he swallows down angry retorts.

"She's gonna hate us," he finally whispers. "I'd rather have her not know than hate us."

Gale takes a deep breath, shaking his head. "If she hasn't decided she hates you before now, I'd say you're pretty safe."

A little snort cuts through the whipping wind.

"I hope you're right."

#######

Jude isn't sure how he's ever going to describe his time in the Capitol.

He'd planted explosives, and then spent what felt like several hours sitting on a luxurious bed watching the pre-show for President Snow's announcement before Annie Cresta, who Jude only remembers vaguely from her games, had burst into the room from the closet and insisted they follow her.

"Why should we?" Jude had asked, he was done following orders.

"Because Birdy told me to get you," she'd explained, looking increasingly frazzled, wringing her hands. "You have to come, please, if you stay you'll be killed. Birdy said so in the book."

Thom had quickly stood, almost tripping over his feet to comfort her.

"Don't worry, of course we'll come."

Jude had rolled his eyes. That boy would follow a pretty face off a cliff if it let looked at him the right way.

She'd beamed, grabbing his hand and pulling him with her.

Arran had quickly followed them, he was obligated to after all, Thom was his son, and Jude had gone too, mostly because he didn't see any other option. This had to be the way out of the madhouse of the Capitol.

Annie had led them into the closet, through a patch of clothing that led to a narrow tunnel.

Several uncomfortable minutes later, after bumping into Arran's butt several times, they emerged into more clothing.

It was similar to the closet they'd just left, though with different colors, variations on the patterns. The clothes were softer looking, more feminine, and there were high heeled shoes tossed around.

"Come on," Annie told them again, gesturing toward the opening, which Jude assumed led into the room.

Pushing the doors open, she rushed in, her dark hair whipping around her worried face as she searched the room softly calling out.

"Finnick?" She bit her lip. "Finnick?"

A groan answered her, followed by a groggy, "Annie?"

Slumped beside the bed, looking a tad drunk and bleary eyed, was Finnick Odair.

He wasn't nearly as impressive in a heap on the floor as he was on the television. His eyes were pinkened, squinting, and his hair wild, as if he'd raked his hands through it a thousand times.

Attempting to stand and reaching for Annie, his legs had given way, sending him back to the floor.

"Someone had a rough night," Thom had muttered, more to himself than anyone else's.

Annie had gasped, and to Thom's apparent disappointment, run to Odair, dropping in front of him and smoothing back his messy hair.

"I'm here Finnick, it's okay," she cooed. She began attempting to pull him up. "Come on, we have to go."

He was too big for her though, and despite his attempts to follow her orders, Odair is too drunk, or possibly drugged, to cooperate fully, collapsing back to the floor and taking her with him.

Annie got more and more hysterical, tugging at his hand and chewing her lip so hard Jude worried she was going to gnaw through it.

"Please, Finnick, please, we have to go."

Slowly, she'd begun crying, sniffling as tears streaked down her cheeks, dripping off her jaw and into Odair's hair.

It had been too much for Jude. He couldn't watch her struggle and cry.

Shaking off his shock at seeing one of the Capitol's darlings in a state of absolute incapacitation, Jude had stomped across the room and reached down, looped an arm around Odair's middle and heaved him up.

"You heard the lady, up we go."

Giving him a tearful smile, Annie had nodded, mouthing the words 'thank you'.

Thom had quickly rushed over and attempted to help, but backed off after nearly making Jude drop Odair on his head.

"I've got him," he'd grumbled, shooting his would be helper a nasty look.

Lugging the almost dead weight that was Finnick Odair along, they'd followed Annie out of the room, down to a smaller hall and into a tiny elevator.

He'd shifted uneasily, not wanting to get on, but thoughts of Val, Katniss, and Prim, all waiting for him, hopefully in the safety of another District, urged him on.

It hadn't groaned as they all stepped on despite its size, and glided smoothly, dropping them down, several floors by Jude's estimation, opening with a cheerful chime at the bottom.

Several men and women, all dressed in simple clothing, plain and unremarkable, greeted them, silently ushering them toward what looked at first to be a large, dark box, but that as they got closer, turned out to be some kind of vehicle.

The avoxes, that was the only explanation for their strange silence, opened the back of the box and gestured for them to get in.

"Annie?"

A man, dark hair and eyes, skin as olive as Jude's own, frowned out at them from his seat in the back of the box vehicle.

"Where's Birdy?"

Annie shook her head, more tears spilling down her face as she began crying again, rendering her almost incomprehensible.

"Girl left," Jude managed to grunt out, shifting Odair and pushing him into the back of the transport. "Haven't seen her in a while."

The man shook his head. "She said she'd meet me down here, after she got Finnick and Annie."

Jude shot him a look then glanced down at Odair. "I get the impression she isn't the most honest person."

"No, Finnick," Annie gently told Odair as she brushed away tears and sniffled loudly while trying to guide him into the back with her. "This way."

"What did she put in my drink?" He'd asked her, finally able to form sentences again.

Getting up, the man reached under Odair's arms and lifted him easily, depositing him toward the front of the transport before coming back and offering Annie a hand up.

He had to be a Victor, he seemed familiar enough, but Jude couldn't place him exactly. Given the situation, he hadn't cared to rack his mind to do so either.

"Always the popular one, our Finnick, right Anne?" He asked, his head nodding toward Jude, Thom, and Arran. "Making friends when he's not even fully conscious."

"We're the demolition crew," Thom announced proudly, earning a sharp jab in the ribs from Jude. He needed to learn when to keep his mouth shut around people they didn't know.

Expression tense, the man nodded. "Birdy's handpicked crew. She mentioned she and Wiress were going to bring down the house." He looked back at Annie. "Where did she go? Did she say if she was going to meet us somewhere else?"

Still tearful, Annie shook her head. "I don't know, Anton. She didn't say." She pulled a ripped page from her shirt, handing it to him. "This is all she gave me."

He looked at it for several seconds, as the other men piled in, then dropped down beside Odair, pressing the page to his face, mumbling to himself.

Jude plopped down, followed by Thom and then Arran, sighing.

"I hope this is the way home," he muttered as the back doors clicked shut, putting them into a dull semi-darkness.

Annie nodded wildly, swatting at her face with one hand and holding a still hazy looking Odair up with the other. "Birdy gave us instructions."

He glared at her. "Yeah, she gave us instructions too, right up until she didn't."

A loud snarl came from the other side and when he looked up, the man was crumpling the paper in his hand. "Well she's probably dead, so don't worry about giving her a piece of your mind."

A long silence filled the air around them after that, as the transport started, adding a strange whirring noise to the emptiness.

Finally, the quiet got to be too much for Thom.

"So, does anyone actually know where we're going?"

No one answered.

"Great."

"Somewhere safe," Annie half whispered.

"How do you know it'll be safe?" Jude frowned at her.

She shrugged, weaving her fingers with Odair's. "I trust my friends."

Closing his eyes, Jude imagined District Four only got to be a Capitol favorite for its good weather and not for the brilliance of its residence. They clearly had poor judgment as far as who was and was not trustworthy.

They traveled for what felt like a long time, at least to Jude. The dark, closed space played tricks on his mind, adding hours to minutes and cutting his air short.

He looked to Thom and Arran, finding them both still and quiet. Maybe they were both as unsettled as he was, but he couldn't voice a question to ask.

When the doors finally open, they're all blinded.

"What the hell is this?" Thom almost shouts, squinting into the white light.

It takes a second, but Odair finally answers, sounding somewhat confused. "The hovercraft dome?"

What that is and why they're there, Jude doesn't know, what he does know is that it's very cold and very well lit.

Almost unable to open his eyes, he feels his way to the end of the vehicle and crawls out, nearly tripping on Thom as he does.

"This place is huge," he hears him say.

Blinking to clear his vision, knock the dark from his eyes, he squints and turns on the spot.

It is huge.

The building is larger than any he's ever been in. The ceilings are so high, arching up gracefully, that he swears he sees clouds, and the nearest wall seems miles away.

All around them, lined up like giant toys, are more hovercrafts than Jude has ever seen in his life.

They're all silent, dark, but still somehow sinister.

He almost expects them to jolt to life, rise up and capture him in a freezing beam. That would be fitting, catch him when he's supposedly so close to leaving.

Frowning, he turns around, eyeing each sleeping machine warily. "So, what now?"

Annie takes the crumbled paper from her friend and shakes her head, chewing her lip again. "It doesn't say."

Great. He isn't even sure what he'd expected at this point.

An avox, the one that had been driving apparently, comes around from the front, pointing frantically toward the far end of the building, his eyes wide and searching.

Something screeches in the distance, the harsh noise echoing off the walls and banging against the hovercrafts, jarring every curious thought from Jude's head.

The avox panics and begins pushing them all toward the back of the vehicle again, his fear palpable as he makes garbled noises and urges them in.

Something has happened, something has gone wrong.

Maybe the explosion hadn't gone off, maybe they'd discovered the plot, maybe Gale and Asher had been caught and questioned. Maybe everything had fallen apart.

What good running will do, Jude isn't sure, but he's too numb to fight back as the small man with short pale hair shoves at them, urging them into the back.

Before he can finish though, the source of the noise comes around the corner, just in their eye line.

It's an expensive looking car, a convertible he thinks they're called, sleek black that almost glows under the fog dulled light of the dome. Inside, are brightly colored people, one in particular that Jude recognizes even with the distance.

"Birdy!" Annie squeaks, pushing her way out of the back, dragging Odair with her.

"Slow, Annie," he hears Odair slur, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm still a little groggy."

By the time they all trip and tumble back out and onto the pavement, the car has come to a sudden and noisy stop.

"You're trying to kill us, aren't you?" He hears Gale, dressed in a long blue coat, ask as he crawls from the inside of the car.

"You'd know if I was trying to kill you," Alameda chirps, kicking her door open and sliding out.

Something pushes past Jude's shoulder, almost knocking him over, and by the time he realizes what's happened, the third Victor has rushed past him and scooped Alameda up, crushing her in a hug.

He can't hear what he says to her, but whatever it is, she laughs, patting him on the shoulder awkwardly before he lets her drop back to the ground.

Looking past her, Jude sees Asher and Gale, alongside Haymitch, all looking windblown and exhausted. There's a tension hanging over them, a strange kind of discomfort that makes Jude curious just what they've all been through since disappearing hours earlier.

Bare feet pad across the ground, stopping in front of the group and tearing his attention from the men still hanging back by the car.

"Good to see everyone made it," Alameda cheerfully greets them.

Annie looks around, wide eyes worriedly taking in her surroundings.

"Where are the others?"

What 'others' she's talking about, Jude isn't sure, but Alameda seems to know.

"No worries, Gracie Anne, haven't you ever heard not to put all your eggs in one basket?" She points to one of the end of the building, where the avox had been telling them to go earlier. "I've got everyone split into several groups. If one group gets caught, the others are still safe."

It's actually pretty smart, though he isn't sure just how many people she's planning on rescuing. The more people that have wormed their way into her good graces the more chances that mistakes could be made.

"What's the likelihood of one group getting caught?" Asher asks, finally coming up from the car.

She shrugs. "Let's not entertain that thought, okay?"

Ten minutes later they're all herded to the far end of the building, into one of the silent hovercrafts.

"I hope we have a pilot," Arran says as he eyes the dead controls.

Haymitch snorts. "Pilot?" He touches the dash, causing it to burst to life, colors and lights flashing brilliantly. "This is the Capitol. Pilots are obsolete."

Behind him, Jude hears Gale make a strangled noise.

"Does that mean you didn't have to drive the car?" He asks, his eyes narrowed on Alameda.

She rolls her eyes. "Only if you wanted to follow traffic laws."

Annie goes the controls, dropping into a seat and staring at the lights, now flicking on and off in a manic pattern.

"Do we want to follow the laws of the sky?"

Alameda shakes her head. "Nope, but I happen to know a former pilot that made the grave error of speaking out against the Capitol."

Jude's eyebrows arch up. "Any chance your friend is going to show up anytime soon?"

Looking over her shoulder at the avox, Alameda grins. "Theo, let's show these guys what you're really good at."

#######

Hours seem to tick by as the train cuts across the unfamiliar lands.

Hazelle yawns, pulling Posy closer and tucking Vick a little more tightly into her side, where he's slowly burrowing in.

Rory is sprawled out at her feet, waking every few minutes to peek out, groan in disgust that they haven't reached their destination yet, and flop back down for another nap.

The train ride seems endless, gliding along as the night grows darker and darker and the silver moon brighter and brighter.

Madge stays tucked at the end, Matilda sleeping at her feet.

Occasionally she looks down at Hazelle, sighing and forcing a smile.

She's exhausted, dark circles are forming under her pale eyes, which are getting progressively redder as the night grows around them.

By the time they reach the depot, a brightly lit oasis in the middle of unfamiliar trees, Hazelle can see Madge is close to collapsing.

"You should've slept on the train," she tells her as they wait for the rest of the train to disembark. "Rory and Vick will be carrying you at this rate."

It's a bit hypocritical. Hazelle had slept, but only in small spurts, never letting her body slip into the deep sleep it so desperately craved.

Madge laughs dully. "Tried. Couldn't." She looks out, into the empty wilds. "I just kept thinking about Gale and Mr. Abernathy. I'm too worried to even close my eyes."

Matilda takes her hand and squeezes it. "They're alright, love. They're survivors."

Hazelle actually smiles at that.

They're all survivors now, fighters. She supposes they always were. People like Madge and Matilda might not have been fighting battles like Hazelle's family had been, but that didn't make them any less real, or any less painful. She can see that now.

"It's all going to be okay," she assures Madge, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "It's all going to work out."

And for the first time since all of this started, she actually believes it.

They watch Rory and Vick prod a strange creature that made the mistake of venturing into the light, to eat what few bugs still survive in the mild winter of Eleven to buzz around the bright depot, for several minutes before Katy-Jo Lewes jumps on a stone bench and begins shouting orders at them.

"Head due west, follow one of us, we know the way!"

For half an hour they trudge across uneven ground toward the darkened land they're told is District Eleven.

All around them creatures yelp and howl, fight with one another, but their new guardians give them constant reassurance.

"Hush it up," the red headed man named Jobe tells them. "We've shot bigger mutts than they got here."

Katniss doesn't seem calmed by that though, and pulls her bow out, which she'd collected during the escape, and pulls Prim close.

Finally, they reach a strange kind of forest.

The trees are all lined up, perfect rows, well trodden paths between them.

As Hazelle takes her first step forward, her foot comes down on something that makes a creaking noise with her weight.

"The fence," she hears Vick gasp.

Looking down, she sees what he's talking about.

Underfoot, down for miles and miles, interrupted by what must be guard towers, is District Eleven's fence.

It had clearly been constructed much more sturdily than Twelve's, more intent on keeping the people in than whatever may or may not have been lurking in the woods and wilds out.

But just like Twelve's, it's also down, useless now.

She hopes that it's a sign that all has gone well in Eleven, and since their new friends don't seem bothered by it, she thinks it does.

Posy snoozes on, but Rory and Vick are wide awake, running ahead with Katy-Jo Lewes and Jessup, asking them dozens of questions as they make their way through the trees.

"It's an orchard," Madge finally says, her eyes wide with wonder as she looks around her. "I remember reading about them in school."

Hazelle racks her brain for any tidbit she'd ever read about any of the other districts, but feels her face flush. She hadn't exactly been a star student.

"They grow peaches and apples and…oh, I can't remember, during the summer."

Nodding, Hazelle lets her eyes trace along the limbs, trying to imagine them heavy with fruit.

She tries to create lush leaves and swollen fruit in her mind, eyes closed and nose filled with the cool scent of dirt and dry plant life, and can't help but think that Asher would love this place.

No mines, outdoors every day, food practically everywhere...

"It must be awful," Madge's voice breaks her thought.

Frowning, Hazelle looks at her, hitching Posy up a little more securely. "What?"

Eyes flickering around, Madge waves at the trees. "Having to harvest all this, but never getting to eat any of it."

Hazelle freezes. "None of it?"

Madge shakes her head.

"Haymitch's friend-oh what was his name?-he told Haymitch he worked in the groves from the time he could walk," Matilda adds offhandedly. She frowns at Posy, then Hazelle. "That's horrible, isn't it?"

It is, and suddenly the orchard seems less a dream and more a nightmare. It's as much a prison as Twelve's mines, only it steals children too.

"Kids in Ten work the animals and in Nine the fields and mills, Three and Eight get sent to the factories with quotas as soon as they're in school." Madge sighs. "No one gets off easy."

After that the conversation dies off and they walk on, the only noise provided by the crunching leaves underfoot.

Finally, they reach the end of the orchard, stepping onto a worn road of broken asphalt and dirt.

"Little bit further," one of the false Peacekeepers yells ahead of them, his rust colored hair just visible over the crowd.

Feet aching and legs numb, Hazelle starts to wake Posy, she can't carry her a step further, when shouting up ahead puts her nerves back on edge.

Katniss' bow is up, and Madge has pulled her mother and Vick back, while Rory has put himself between his Hazelle and whatever awful think is going on in front of them, before they know what's even happening.

"This way! This way!" A girl, maybe Prim's age or a little younger, painfully thin and smiling brightly, calls to them from atop a tree. "This way! We got food and blankets! This way!"

Out of the darkness, District Eleven seems to erupt with life.

Strange structures appear as they follow the girl's instructions, down the rough road, and from them people step out, offering thin blankets and directing the river of District Twelve residents toward shelter.

"They have the barns opened up for y'all," Katy-Jo Lewes informs them as she drops back to walk with Madge. "Not perfect, but better than sleeping outside."

Men, women, and children greet them, pushing blankets and small bits of dried food on them as they make their way into the first of several large barns.

Inside it's warm and dry, filled with hundreds, maybe thousands, of crates that all appeared recently opened and emptied.

"We just over took them," a boy about Rory's age tells them when they ask what happened. "Got most of them locked up, lost a few though."

"Oh, they won't get far," Katy-Jo Lewes promises him, her lips twitching up wickedly. "We're all pretty good trackers."

They settle down beside several opened crates, and after some prodding, Hazelle convinces Madge to take a short nap.

"You can't take care of anyone if you don't take care of yourself too," she tells her. It's a lesson she'd taken years to learn on her own.

"And being awake or asleep doesn't make much different to people who aren't here," Katy-Jo Lewes adds, a bit less than helpfully. "Nothing you can do."

"That's the opposite of a motivational speech, you know that don't you, Katherine-Jo?" Jessup asks her as he rips a large chunk from his bit of dried fruit.

She either doesn't hear him or doesn't care, because she turns away, back to Vick and Rory and their endless questions.

"You two could be from Eleven," Vick says, squinting first at Katy-Jo Lewes and Jessup, then to a woman passing out dried fruit.

"Maybe we are." She shrugs. "No telling."

Eyes getting heavy, Hazelle tries to make sense of her words, but the long day and the even longer walk have taken their toll.

Pulling the blanket closer around her and Posy, she lets her heavy lids drop shut and quickly nods off into a restless sleep.

#######

Madge is woken by a soft hand slapping at her cheek.

"Up you get, Madgie," Katy-Jo Lewes' warm voice says. "You don't want to miss this."

She does. Whatever it is, she's positive it can't be as wonderful as the sleep she'd finally forced herself to get.

It had started as a nap, but as the night rolled on, more and more of District Twelve trickled in and news of the disaster in the Capitol brought cautious excitement, she'd finally given in to what her body ached to do.

Squinting, she peeks out from under her blanket.

There's pale white light filtering in through the cracks in the barn, catching in the dust floating in the air. Everyone is asleep, save the false Peacekeepers and a few people from District Eleven that had come in to help with the organizing.

She should care more about what's going on, how the rebellion is progressing and how many districts have slipped from the Capitol's control, but all her sluggish mind can think of is how sore she is and just how comfortable and warm her body has become.

Something pinches her, hard and sharp, causing her to shoot up, knocking her blanket off.

Suddenly, she's fully awake, all the terror of the night back and her mind solidly functioning.

"Has something happened? Did the Peacekeepers get out?"

A thousand horrible possibilities run through her now overly alert mind.

Katy-Jo Lewes sits back on her feet, eyebrows high on her head. "What? No, just come on."

Pressing her fingers to her eyes, she looks over and finds Mrs. Hawthorne already awake, dislodging Posy and Vick from around her and pushing herself up.

She holds a hand out to Madge. "Let's go see what all the fuss is about."

They pick their way through the barn, stepping over sleeping people and discarded fruit rinds, all the way to the end and out into the cool morning air.

The sharpness of the air, harsh and stinging, knocks what little sleepy haze is left out of Madge's head as she looks around.

In the thin morning light, she can see all the features that had been indistinguishable in the dark.

Houses, broken lampposts, crumbling government offices, and in the distance, a field with something large and very out of place settled in the center.

The hovercraft is silent, as they so often are, dark and frightening as it waits patiently, nearly stopping Madge's heart.

Frantically, she looks over at Mrs. Hawthorne, finding her expression every bit as terrified as her own must be.

Then, before they can run, warn everyone that it's all been a trick and they need to leave, it opens.

Someone comes running down the ramp, but it isn't a Peacekeeper.

The man is in a long blue coat, heavy looking boots, and his dark hair is standing on end, blowing wildly as he runs toward them.

For a second Madge thinks she's seeing things and blinks to clear her vision. It can't be who she thinks it is, it's too wonderful, she's dreaming.

Mrs. Hawthorne has no such doubts.

She takes off, nearly falling over her own feet as she runs at Gale, flinging her arms around his neck and sobbing onto his shoulder.

Madge watches, frozen in the spot, as Gale's mother lets him go, pulls back and smoothes his hair, kisses his cheeks and cries before hugging him again, as if she'll never let him go.

It feels a bit like intruding. This is a moment just for the two of them and she has no right to be watching.

Then more figures appear from the hovercraft and Mrs. Hawthorne makes a strangled noise.

Mr. Hawthorne breaks from the group and scoops his wife up, almost toppling over backwards as he does.

Mr. Lacewood laughs and Thom says something, which earns him a slap to the back of the head, while Mr. Everdeen smiles and looks around, clearly searching for his family.

"Oh, damn, I forgot the cranky one," she hears Katy-Jo Lewes say before racing off, leaving her rooted in the spot.

Madge begins toying with the hem of her shirt.

Part of her wants to run to Gale, look him over and make sure he's whole and truly safe. He'd risked his life for her, he loves her and she loves him.

Another part of her wants to turn and leave.

He'd been in danger because of her. His mother and his family deserve this time, not her.

Back at the hovercraft she sees Mr. Abernathy coming down, slowly, hesitantly. He glares around for a minute, looking a bit wary, before he spots her.

A little smile, like the one he'd always given her when she'd outsmarted him at chess, flicks up at the edges of his lips, and suddenly she feels a weight lifted.

It's all okay, just like Vick and Hazelle had told her it would be. Gale is alive. His dad is alive. Mr. Abernathy is alive.

She hears her name and lets her eyes drop from Mr. Abernathy, onto Gale, now jogging towards her.

He stops a few feet away, his expression uncertain.

"Madge?"

His hair is a mess, despite his mother's efforts, and his clothes are a bit ragged, tattered at the edges as if he'd run through fires and caught it on broken glass. The stubble is thick on his cheeks and jaw, dark with soot and grim, and Madge feels her fingers itch to touch it, ensure herself he's really there.

"Madg-"

She flings her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder and inhaling she harsh scent of smoke and heat that cling to him. He's alive.

Sobs she didn't even know she'd been holding in finally break free and she quickly soaks his coat with tears and snot.

Chapped lips begin pressing to her cheek, his rough chin scratching at her skin as he moves along to her temple and forehead, back down to her neck and up again.

"I'm sorry," she blubbers. "I'm sorry."

Gale shakes his head and continues kissing her.

She isn't sure how long they stay like that, but Gale finally pulls back, cupping her face, his thumb gently grazing under her eye. "What happened?"

Her hand jumps to her face and she feels her cheeks warm under his scrutiny. "Nothing, just, don't worry about it."

His eyebrows knit together. "Did-"

Grabbing him, she presses her lips to his again. She doesn't want to talk about getting knocked down or hurt. All she wants is to hold him.

Taking a deep breath, Madge wraps her arms around his middle, presses her ear to his chest and closes her eyes, memorizing the rhythm of his heartbeat.

He's alive and they're together, everything is going to be okay.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: I've slowly come to realize this story is basically just me writing a soap opera. In my defense, I grew up watching those, for better or worse. I'm so sorry.

Gale buries his face in Madge's hair, taking in long breaths of her.

She smells like the woods, earthy and crisp, with the faint trace of smoke clinging to her. Or maybe that's his own skin purging itself of the death and destruction he'd just left behind.

He feels his mind pulling him in a hundred different directions. He needs to see the kids, make sure they're safe, hug his mom again, ask just how everything went down and how her face got bruised, see if the Everdeens are alright, but all he wants to focus on is holding her as close as he can and never letting go.

She feels so soft and cold, shaking just a little, but when he asks her about it, she just shakes her head, pressing her ear to his chest a little more firmly.

"It's just nerves."

So he holds her tighter and slowly feels his shirt soak through with more tears of relief.

Smoothing her hair, he presses another long kiss to her hair and sighs. He'd missed her more than he realized.

Pulling back, she reaches up and traces her soft fingertips over his cheeks, eyes narrowing as she studies him closely, probably searching for cuts and bruises.

He doesn't mind, it gives him a chance to inspect her injury a little more.

Her right cheek is swollen and her eye is a hateful purple, though some deep pink and red still linger at the edges. Gale has the sudden, irrational need to know who'd done this to her, and the even greater desire to pay them back for it.

Gingerly, the pads of his own fingers brush over the injury and she winces.

"Sorry," he mutters.

Madge gives him a small smile. "It's okay. It looks worse than it is really."

Gale doubts that. He's been in his share of fights, gotten more than a few black eyes, and he knows a bad one when he sees it. He almost asks her if Katniss' mother has taken a look at it to see if anything is broken, but stops when he feels eyes on his back.

All his questions will have to wait. There's are more important things that Madge needs to talk about.

Madge's lips thin and she glances over Gale's shoulder, sensing someone there, then her eyes light up.

She'd hung back while he'd greeted his parent, now he has to return the courtesy.

Jerking his head a fraction, he gestures for her to go. "We'll catch up later."

With a grateful smile she steps past him, giving his hand a squeeze before breaking into a run.

Gale turns just in time to see her lunge at Haymitch, flinging her arms around his neck and pulling him down to her height.

For half a second Haymitch holds Gale's gaze, a defeated sort of expression hanging on his face.

For the hundredth time in only a few hours, Gale feels sorry for the bastard.

He'd gotten a raw deal with his victory and now he might be about to lose one of the few bright spots he's managed to grab on to. Madge and Matilda are his reason for breathing, and the thought that he could lose either of them is devastating.

Gale swallows down a lump in his throat.

It isn't fair to Haymitch that he has to tell her, and it isn't fair that he's in this position to begin with. It isn't fair to Madge not to know though, and that's all Gale can let himself worry about at the moment.

She's his priority.

Haymitch lets his eyes drop as he tightens his hug, forgetting Gale and everyone else for a moment, and Gale turns his back to them.

They need this time, whatever happens.

#######

Madge presses her nose to Mr. Abernathy's shoulder.

There's smoke and heat there, but under that is the cologne he always where's when he's in the Capitol and the scent of the expensive detergent they use on his clothes. It's strangely comforting, reminding her of homecomings and safety.

His arms tighten around her and he lets out a long breath, warm air ruffling her hair, before he pulls back and scowls at her.

"Who did this?"

He cups her cheek and glares around, as if the culprit will just pop out and accept their punishment.

Madge gives him a small smile. "It's-I'm fine, it doesn't matter."

"It isn't fine and it does matter," he grumbles, his hand falling from her face as he rubs his eyes then pinches the bridge of his nose with the other. "Someone hurts you I oughta know. I oughta be able to fix it."

Rolling her eyes, Madge takes his hand and gives him an exasperated smile. He's trying to be a white knight, a great protector, just like he's been trying to do since she was little. She wishes he'd realize he doesn't have to work so hard at it. He's a hero, even if he isn't perfect.

Giving his hand a squeeze, Madge just smiles. "You can't fix everything."

"Don't I know it," he mutters to himself.

Madge starts to ask him what he means, but gives her a forced little smile and takes her face gently in his hands, kissing her forehead. When he pulls back, his expression is uncertain, but he quickly forces a smile.

"I, uh, I need to talk to that mother of yours."

Nodding, Madge takes his hand again and begins to tow him toward the barn, her mother will want to see him too, but he stops her, half digging his heels into the hard earth.

"It's a little...delicate," he explains, his eyes down, studying his boots. Looking up, he gives her another uncomfortable smile. "Just me and her, okay? I'll find you in a while."

Before she can ask him why he's in such a hurry to talk to her mother, who's probably dead asleep and exhausted, he hurries off without a backward glance.

Frowning at his retreating back, Madge feels something in her chest begin to sting.

Something is wrong, she can sense it.

Mr. Abernathy is never eager to get away from her, and he should be especially clingy after what they'd all just been through. Madge had half expected to have to pry him from her side for the next month just to have a moment with Gale, but he hadn't even shot off a barb about their reunion.

It's strange and confusing. She doesn't like it.

A warm hand wraps around hers and she turns to find Gale, his eyebrows knitted together in concern.

"Everything okay?"

Nose wrinkling up, Madge glances back, to where Mr. Abernathy had disappeared. "I don't know."

She almost asks him if something happened, but stops herself. It's a stupid question. Of course something had happened, to all of them.

Mr. Abernathy had probably just watched many of his friends die and helped set in motion the end of a government that had destroyed his life and his family. He probably just needed a moment alone...with her mother.

Shaking her head, Madge brushes it off. Her mother is probably his best friend. They've known each other for year and they'd had endless hours to fill while Madge was at school, of course he'd want to talk to what had probably become his closest confidant.

An odd knot forms in the pit of her stomach as Delly's words echo through her head.

We all thought he just kept her around for sex.

As quickly as the thought forms, she shakes it off. It's ridiculous. Mr. Abernathy loves them, anything else is ridiculous.

Looking back at Gale, Madge forces a smile. "I guess-he just wanted to make sure my mom was okay."

His gray eyes flick over her shoulder for a moment, worried, then back to her.

He doesn't say anything, but Madge gets the feeling he knows just what is so important that Mr. Abernathy had to rush off to talk to her mother about.

"If you know-"

"I can't tell you," he cuts her off before she can even form the question. "Just...go easy on him."

That sets off alarms. While time in the Capitol had likely softened them on each other-how could it not?-the tone of Gale's voice and the wary expression on his face make her certain it's more than simply a deeper understanding of one another.

Stomach rolling, Madge searches Gale's face for just what's going on, but he just stares at her like she's made of glass and is about to shatter.

It's bad. Whatever it is, it's bad.

"He loves you, Madge," Gale finally says. "I think he's an asshole, but he loves you more than his own life. Everything he's done is for you."

The more he defends Mr. Abernathy and his as yet undisclosed indiscretion, the more Madge worries.

Heart stuttering painfully, Madge feels herself begin to shake, not from the cold, but from a certainty that something awful is about to happen.

Gale quickly envelopes her in his arms, running his hand up and down her back, shushing her and murmuring comforting things into her hair.

She feels anything but comforted though.

#######

Asher watches Haymitch slump off and feels his own stomach roll with worry.

He knows Gale is only concerned for Madge, but he isn't sure this is for the best.

She's happy, just like Haymitch had said. Ignorant, but happy, and if Haymitch and Matilda can live with that, why should anyone force them to shatter the carefully woven life they've constructed for their daughter?

"She'd want to know," that's what Gale had said, and as far as he was concerned, that trumped any other reasoning.

Madge would want to know, Madge deserves to know. It's the right thing to do.

He shakes his head and thinks back over the past few hours.

Asher had bitten into the bitter chocolate bar, filled with nuts and berries, that Phoebe had handed out, as they sat around the front room of the hovercraft and listened to the broadcast from the districts.

The rebelling districts had overthrown most of the Capitol installations. Rebels in both the Capitol and District Three had overtaken radio and television broadcasts, gleefully announcing each victory, big and small. District Twelve's destruction received special mention.

"The last act of a falling regime," the commentator from the Capitol had said, trying and failing to sound upset over the loss of the coal mining district.

Phoebe had shrugged at the woman's lack of genuine distress.

"Hey, you get help where it's offered. Do you have any idea how hard it is to recruit Capitol citizens?" She sighed. "You don't know who's a spy and who's really interest or who'll hold up under pressure, I mean, they aren't exactly used to toughing it out."

The men had all just sat in stony silence after that, waiting for her to get in contact with someone who could tell them the fate of their families and friends.

It had taken her ten agonizing minutes, typing in codes and frequencies on an ancient looking machine and muttering curses under her breath before static had filled the room.

"Sorry," she shouted to them, over her shoulder, "we had to use a really old line to communicate so that no one listened in. It's a bitch to get to from these new devices."

Apparently, they weren't made to connect with whatever device her friends were using and had to be manually ripped up and forced together to connect.

"And how were we supposed to do all that without you here?" Gale asked, tired irritation souring his voice.

She grinned. "You wouldn't."

Their knowing if their families lived or died was obviously low on her list of priorities.

"So you expected us to just wait and see?" Jude's teeth ground together. He'd been coldly silent when Asher had explained what all had happened while he and Gale were gone. "Just hop on and hope for the best?"

She nodded, either not hearing or not caring about the bite in his words.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

"So I've been told, frequently, and by people I hold in better regard than you," she chirped backed.

Someone laughed, and they'd been surprised to find Odair, on his feet and steady, Annie and the dark haired man at his side.

"Still as charming as ever." His eyes twinkled. "I still haven't figured out how no one has tried to kill you yet."

"They have," she told him offhandedly.

She'd gone back to fiddling with the communicator after that, leaving her friends from Four to mingle with the men from Twelve.

It had been a stilted meeting, introductions and half hearted inquires into how everyone was holding up, mostly spearheaded by Odair until they all came to the silent agreement that everyone needed a nap.

They'd all retreated to dimly lit places, all ready for some solitude and time to gather their thoughts.

Jude disappeared to the back, the Fours to the front, Haymitch somewhere unknown, Arron and Thom simply nodded off where they sat, while Gale and Asher had gotten up for a walk along the perimeter halls, too much nervous energy for sleep.

"You shouldn't force him to tell her," Asher had told Gale. "This isn't your decision."

"No," Gale agreed. "But it's the right decision."

"Son, you don't have kids, you don't know what a parent will sacrifice for their children."

"I've watched you," Gale grumbled. "You wouldn't keep something like this from any of us."

"If it would save your life I would-"

"But it isn't going to." Gale ran a hand over his face. "You heard those broadcasts; we're taking the people that would hurt her out. That was the whole point in this whole mess. There's no reason to keep this from her, not anymore."

Secrets and lies, manipulating people, that was the Capitol's way, and Gale's idealism refused to let their legacy live on, no matter what.

"She'd feel awful if something happened to the ass-" Gale caught himself, bite his tongue, "-jerk and she found out. If I were in her place, I'd want to know."

And that, Asher felt, was the crux of it all. Gale was projecting his own feelings, right or wrong.

"You aren't in her place though," Asher pointed out. "This isn't a situation anyone can prepare for. Do you really want to be the reason she loses the only sense of security she has?"

Gale shook his head. "I won't be."

Whether he meant because Haymitch had done this or because he knew Madge would be okay, Asher wasn't sure.

Gale had gone off to find the toilet after that, leaving Asher to his wandering alone.

"He's a bit of an absolutist, isn't he?"

Frowning, Asher stepped toward a nook in the wall and found Phoebe digging out blankets and pillows.

"A what?"

She glanced back at him, eyebrows arched. "It's all black and white with him, right and wrong, good and evil. There's no gray."

He nodded. He supposed she was right.

Gale had always seen things as useful or not, and useful equaled right in his mind, unnecessary equaled wrong.

"The thing is, this world is all gray." She turned and handed him a stack of heavy, intricate looking blankets. "Not seeing that is dangerous. Not seeing that turns you into the thing you're fighting."

Nodding, Asher sighed.

If the world is split, good and evil, what happens when you step past that line?

There has to be gray, or no one is anything.

"Do you think he should tell her?" He finally asks, following her down the hall.

She shrugged. "Dunno. That's the gray." She glanced back. "Things like this have a way of worming out though, it's inevitable. Whether Mr. Haymitch wants it to or not."

He wondered, briefly, if that line of thinking applied to his own situation with her.

Now, watching Gale hold Madge, he can't help but wonder whether his son is the inevitable force, the thing that was always meant to push this secret out that she'd mentioned.

"I'm glad you're home," Hazelle whispers as she squeezes him tighter, her eyes on their son. She kisses the underside of his jaw. "I'm glad we're all going to be happy."

Asher forces a smile and kisses her chapped lips before turning his gaze back to Gale and Madge.

After a few seconds Madge untangles herself from his son, pops in her toes and kisses his cheek, before jogging off, in the direction Haymitch had vanished in.

Stomach rolling again, Asher pulls Hazelle tighter.

If the worst happens, he hopes it doesn't push Gale over that invisible line he's created in the world. He isn't sure he'll be able to crawl back over it.

#######

Haymitch steps over sleeping people, narrowly missing trotting on one of the Hawthorne boys.

"Hey," he nudges the boy, the older of the two, with his foot, "where's 'Tilda?"

Groggily, the boy sits up, squinting at him for a moment before pointing to the other side of the crate he's sleeping next to.

Stepping around the crate, he spots a lump of blankets.

Matilda is curled up between the wall and the wooden crate, blankets over her head, one of her bare feet sticking out.

It's darker in her little nook than in the rest of the barn they have them penned up in, quieter, and he wonders if she chose it to fight off a headache. A cocoon shielding her from everyone else. Probably.

He hates to wake her, but they need to talk, this is her problem too.

Crouching down, Haymitch reaches out and runs a finger up the sole of her exposed foot.

Matilda makes a noise from under her blankets, pulling her foot away before he can do it again.

A few seconds later, doughy eyes peek out from under the blanket, widening when they settle on Haymitch. Slowly, she lowers the edge, smiling sleepily out at him.

Before he can say so much as 'good morning', she's up on her knees, her arms around his neck.

"I missed you."

Despite the direness of the situation, Haymitch feels his lips tug up at the edges. "Missed you too, sweetheart."

Cool fingers tangle in the wild strands of his hair that are poking into his collar and begin toying with them. It's soothing, more intoxicating than any drink he's ever had, and he wants nothing more than to let her carry on into eternity.

"You won't have to leave again?" He hears her ask, her lips against his ear, brushing it softly. "Promise?"

Haymitch presses his nose into her hair and inhales.

Even though she's been trudging through the woods, in the cold and the wind, he still smells sugar clinging to her from her candy. She's permeated with it, and no amount of hiking can force it from her.

Soft lips press to his jaw, achingly slow, and he has to fight off a groan growing in his throat.

Tempting as it is to let her continue her ministrations, this isn't the time. They have things to talk about.

Giving her a gentle push, pack onto her heels, he gives her a tight smile."Not the time, sweetheart."

Her small smile slips off, replaced by a puckered lip and knitted eyebrows.

Glancing around, Haymitch sees most everyone is still asleep, but that isn't good enough. They need privacy, and hiding between the wall and a crate isn't going to cut it.

Standing, Haymitch feels his knees pop and he grimaces. He's getting old.

Reaching back down, he takes her hand and pulls her to her feet. "We need to talk."

She must sense his anxiety, because she begins gnawing at her lip, eyes darting around.

He wishes he could comfort her, tell her it's nothing and not to worry, but he can't. It's definitely something to worry about, something they've both worried about already.

Tugging her along, they skirt along the wall, toward an open door and out, into the chilly morning air.

The sky is lighter now, brighter, white sunlight illuminating everything crisply, bouncing off the broken glass of windows and dull metal of the many barns lined up around them.

Walking for several minutes, Haymitch finally spots a building that looks more or less empty.

It's like all the other barns, chipped paint on a Capitol seal and dinged walls. Unlike the others, the larger doors are opened on this one, large drag marks visible along the cracked cement floor leading out the door. Whatever they'd stored inside had been large and heavy.

Ducking inside the doorway, Haymitch pulls Matilda along, dragging her with him into the shelter of a dark corner behind the shattered remains of a huge wooden box.

Running his hand through his hair, Haymitch tries to figure out how he's going to start this conversation, which he'd never expected to have, but he jumps when a cool hand wraps around his wrist.

Matilda gives him a weak smile, her teeth chattering and her body shaking from the cold. He'd made her leave without her coat and shoes, of course.

Cursing himself, he hadn't even noticed how chilly it was through his heavy jacket, Haymitch begins shedding layers.

"Dammit," he mutters, wrapping the long jacket around her shoulders. "Dammit."

Rubbing his hands up and down her arms, he watches as her teeth slowly stop chattering and her expression relax.

"Thank you," she whispers.

Cupping her face between his hands, Haymitch presses a kiss to her forehead.

Before he can pull back, she's wrapped her arms around his middle and burrowed into his chest. "What's the matter, Haymitch?"

The easier question would be what isn't the matter.

Kissing her hair, Haymitch lets his cheek rest against the top of her head as he tries to think of the easiest way to start this conversation.

They'd decided, well, he'd decided, years ago, that not being part of Madge's or Matilda's life was for the best.

After Daniel had died though, he hadn't seen another option. They had to be part of his life; it was the only way to save them.

He couldn't leave Matilda in that 'hospital'. There was no telling what they'd do to her in there. He'd heard stories about people that had been tossed in places like it in other districts.

"Not a pleasant fate," Wiress had explained unhelpfully when he'd first gone to her for help getting her out. "They like to try out experimental methods of coercion on the mentally unfit."

The thought of faceless people doing who knows what to a terrified Matilda had set Haymitch's nerves on end and he'd nearly throttled Wiress when she didn't get him the paperwork fast enough.

She'd been as fine as could be expected once he got her out. Still, he'd spent hours looking her over, inspecting her too thin, too frail body for injury, just to ease his mind.

Then there'd been Madge.

Not since his Games had he been so close to killing someone as he was with those witches at the community home.

She'd looked like a ragdoll, battered and broken. No one had protected her, put a hand up to stop the other kids from abusing her, and that had boiled his blood. He isn't sure if he was surprised by it though, the community home was run by the Capitol. Taking care of the least among their constituents was hardly high on their list of priorities.

Despite all she'd been through, she'd still been sweet. Daniel and Matilda had raised her well, and for that Haymitch will forever be grateful. He isn't sure a child he'd been allowed to raise would be quite so well adjusted and able to deal with that kind of trauma. At least not without a drink.

A home with him wasn't ideal, but it was better than the other option.

Closing his eyes, he sighs.

"The boy knows," he finally tells her. "Hawthorne. That damn girl told him and his dad."

Matilda's thin arms tighten around his middle and he can feel her breath through his shirt, warm and moist.

"Oh."

Twisting a lock of her hair around his finger, Haymitch nods. "He thinks I should tell her. We should tell her."

She shifts, her chin propped on his sternum, hazy eyes gazing up at him.

Her expression is soft, worried. Nose wrinkled up and eyebrows still pulled together. "What are you going to do?"

"Me?" He laughs, he can't stop himself. "There's two of us in this mess, sweetheart."

A little smile twitches up on her lips. "This is your secret though, Haymitch."

He groans. Of course it is.

"You're the one that didn't want her to know-"

"For her own good," he reminds her.

"-but it was still a decision you made." She lets her eyes drop as she begins chewing her lip again. "I went along, but you made the choice."

Releasing him, she backs away, wrapping her arms around her middle.

She's beating herself up, he can tell. Haymitch had dictated the terms of all their relationships, and she'd never been happy with it, but she'd let him.

It had been the only choice at the time, though.

Reaching out, Haymitch cups her cheek, grazing his thumb over her skin.

It hadn't been fair that he'd had to make that decision, that he only had that option, or that Matilda, Madge, and Daniel had been caught up in it, but then, nothing is fair when the Capitol is involved, and with Haymitch, the Capitol was always involved.

"He thinks it's-he thinks we should start this new, uh, life with a clean slate, I guess," he tells her, his hand slipping down, to her neck, as he takes a step toward her.

Matilda smiles, her eyes brighter than they've been in a while. "I like that idea."

Haymitch snorts. "Of course you do."

She takes a step forward, close enough for the heat from her body to radiate toward him.

"Madge loves you," she half whispers. "This won't change it."

It will though, and he knows it. He can't see how it couldn't.

She'll see this as a lie, just like the boy did, just like Haymitch would if he were in her shoes. She might even get mad at Matilda for going along with it, maybe even at Daniel for helping to perpetuate it.

It turns his stomach.

They're victims in this mess as much as she is. Just because they knew what was going on didn't make them guilty. This is all Haymitch's fault, and he'll accept the blame.

"It'll change everything."

Cool fingers brush over his face, smearing something warm and wet across his cheek and he closes his eyes in frustration. He hates crying.

It takes a lot for him to cry. Over the years his tears have run dry, but the thought of losing the only things in this world he considers precious to him is enough to flood his barren ducts.

He loves them both so much. He can't lose them.

Closing his eyes tighter, he feels her body flush against his again, her cool hands on his face, prickling against his stubble, then warm, soft lips on his.

"She loves you. I love you," he hears her whisper, hot breath on his lips. "It's going to be okay."

He wants to believe her, even if he knows he shouldn't. Everything he's earned, every smile and every hug, will be erased once Madge knows the truth, and that takes his breath away.

He's survived a lot, but he doesn't think he can survive losing Madge's love.

Matilda's hands drop down to his chest, taking fistfuls of the silken material in her hands and holding him to her, and Haymitch is seconds from letting her kiss him until all his worries melt away when he hears a soft noise behind him.

At first he starts to ignore it, probably mice or some damn cat, but then he feels himself being shoved back, stumbling, and a voice he knows better than his own gasping, "Mother!"

Madge is staring at Matilda as if she's never seen her right. Eyes wide and mouth hanging open, a hand on her shoulder, physically keeping her at arm's length.

After a few agonizingly long seconds she looks at Haymitch, her expression still teetering between fearful and confused.

"What-I-what are the two of you doing?" She looks back at Matilda. "And what didn't he want me to know?"

No matter how long she'd been listening in, she apparently couldn't hear much. Their voices had been much too low and even if they hadn't, they hadn't explained themselves properly, there'd been no need to. They knew what they were talking about.

He could play this off, tell her he and Matilda have been carrying on a secret relationship for the past few years. It wouldn't be a lie, not entirely, and he thinks it would burn her less than the bigger secret.

It actually seems like a perfect plan. Introduce her to the idea of himself as a stepparent, and then, in a few years, tell her the rest, but her next question kills that idea.

"Please tell me everyone wasn't right," she pleads, her voice a soft rasp, "you haven't just kept her around for sex."

Haymitch feels his face burn, though he isn't sure if it's from embarrassment or fury.

Ever since the Quell he's had to deal with wild rumors. It was inevitable. He was the wealthiest person in the district and that drew a certain amount of scrutiny.

Most of the talk had died down by the time he'd taken Madge and Matilda in, and started right back up with that juicy event.

People were bored, and a rich, drunken, irritable recluse suddenly taking in the wife and child of their former mayor was delicious fodder for the rumor mill.

He'd ignored it for the most part. People were questioning his motives, not taking shots at the girls, and he could live with that. It was only after he'd heard people talking about his reasons for snatching Madge that he'd gotten mad and said anything to quiet them. The last thing she needed were rumors like that swirling around her. He knew how kids were.

The fact that he hadn't heard anything about himself or either of them in years didn't mean people had stopped talking, but it at least meant people were sufficiently scared of him and his unstable temper to keep from spreading that shit around him or the girls.

Apparent that lull had finally died.

Reaching out, he half expects Madge to back away or push him, but to his great relief she doesn't, just stays planted in the spot with her eyes full of tears as he cups her cheek.

"Sweetheart," he begins, voice cracking a little, "I would never hurt your mother. I'd never use her like that."

Shiny eye stare at him, searching, and she blinks, sending a cascade of hot tears down her cheeks as she nods slightly before biting her lip and looking back at her mother.

"You-but you're-you're together though, right?"

Matilda gently takes Madge's hand from her shoulder and presses a kiss to her knuckles before nodding.

Haymitch can hear Madge swallow, nod uncertainly, then look back to him.

"How-how long?"

That, Haymitch thinks, is a much more complicated question.

His hesitation must worry her more, and she fixes him in a little glare.

"Clean slate," she quickly adds. "You said something about a clean slate. Tell me, please."

It feels like they're on a precipice, teetering dangerously at the edge, and whatever Haymitch or Matilda say next will either pull them back or blow them off. He isn't sure which would be preferable.

"A very long time," Matilda tells her softly, her voice a breathy sigh.

"How long?" Madge asks more firmly, swatting at her eyes, taking small, ragged breathes. Her eyes suddenly widen in horror. "Before dad..."

Haymitch shakes his head, but Matilda just sighs. "Oh, long before Daniel."

"Not like that," Haymitch stammers when Madge's expression hardens. "She means before she met Danny, not...the other."

They're making a mess of this, but his mouth is dry and he can't get his mind to function past patching holes.

Madge takes her hand back from Matilda and steps away from Haymitch, leaving his hand dangling in the cold air.

"So what? You lost out to dad and when he died you took us in so you could get back with mom?"

Her mother shakes her head. "Oh love, he didn't lose to Daniel."

Haymitch almost groans. He sometimes forgets how unhelpful Matilda is when it comes to explaining things. Granted, he's not doing too spectacularly himself at the moment…

"Danny, he cared about it your mom, but not like, not like someone you marry," he explains lamely, running his hands through his hair. "He was trying to help her, help me..."

"You aren't making any sense..."

Damned if he doesn't know that, but his mind and his mouth are in different threads.

"I couldn't risk having a kid and your momma couldn't do it alone, it isn't allowed, you know? And Danny he cared and wanted to help..."

Wait, he'd said that already...

He's babbling, he's terrified, he can't think.

A cool hand grabs his and he stills.

Matilda has her eyes focused on him, trying to lend him her strange serenity, smiling softly.

For a minute he tries to just focus on her features, the curve of her face and the haze of her eyes, ground himself in the moment with her hand holding his, and it almost feels like it's working until he lets his eyes drift to Madge.

She's staring at the ground, her eyebrows pulled together and her mouth a thin line, as if she's trying to stitch together what he's just told her, piece it into something she can comprehend.

Finally, he sees her eyes widen as they come up, settling on him.

It's like she's seeing him for the first time and isn't sure what she's expected to think of him.

Her gaze drifts for a second to her mother, then back, and off again, before she sucks in a breath.

"I-I need a minute," she half mumbles as she takes off, not even looking back, leaving only dust and quiet in her wake.

An empty silence echoes through the barn, and Haymitch feels it settle in his soul.

Madge is gone. All his good intention hadn't amounted to anything.

It's what he deserves, he thinks. He deserves to lose her. He hadn't trusted her with the facts of her own life, and now she's gone.

Irrationally, he thinks he shouldn't have listened to Wiress all those years ago. She was one of the Capitol's puppet masters and he'd let her pull his strings, control his life.

As quickly as that thought form, he shakes it off.

This wasn't Wiress' fault. She didn't have any control over the horrible things she had to do, and she didn't have any say over what happened to the people in Haymitch's life. She'd helped him save Madge and Matilda even though she hadn't had to.

This is his final gift from the Capitol, his last prize of Victory.

Matilda wraps her arms around him, her face in his chest. "She'll come back."

He shakes his head. She won't.

He's lost her.


End file.
